


And What About After?

by charliechick117



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Background Relationships, Dancing, Domestic, Dreams and Nightmares, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Minor Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Minor Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens), Minor Original Character(s), Post-Apocalypse, Post-Canon, Teaching, Trans Character, Tumblr Prompt, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2020-05-29 15:19:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 23,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19403011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charliechick117/pseuds/charliechick117
Summary: The world didn't end and, while six thousand years is a long time to experience humanity, Crowley and Aziraphale realize they haven't experienced everything.  With the apocalypse avoided, they had the chance to continue on, enjoying each others company and enjoying humanity that they helped (slightly) to save.AKA 30 different mini-fics about Crowley and Aziraphale taking place post-canon.  Prompts from tumblr user 'goodomensblog'Tags to be updated as I go.





	1. Crowded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Quiet evenings in Aziraphale's bookshop.

Crowley was never fond of crowded spaces. Not since he landed his job on Earth, far away from the cluster of hell. Humans called it claustrophobia but Crowley called it having-his-own-personal-space-thank-you. His entire flat was designed to be open, to breathe, to walk without any obstacles in his way.

Even safe in his Bentley, he hated traffic. Hated how similar it felt to being stuck in the long dark hallways of hell, shuffled along among thousands of other bodies, squashed like sardines. There was a reason he drove fast – to avoid traffic. To get back home, back to where he had _space_.

When Aziraphale first opened his bookshop, Crowley didn’t expect he’d like it that much. Of course he arrived with chocolates and flowers to celebrate the grand opening and he knew he would be visiting frequently – they were friends after all – but Crowley was certain he wouldn’t _enjoy_ it. He would enjoy Aziraphale’s company, he always did, and he would care about the bookshop because Aziraphale did, but as the years went by and the bookshelves grew ever more crowded, Crowley didn’t imagine he would enjoy being there.

And Crowley had a big imagination.

After the Almost End, after their Trials by Fire (and Water), Crowley surprised even himself with how comfortable he was in the bookshop. Even though the bookshop was clearly Aziraphale’s home, the place he lived and slept, it was also a shop. It held the neutral but private ground needed whenever they got too drunk to be out in public. Crowley had spent many nights in the bookshop, talking with Aziraphale and drinking.

It wasn’t until they were free from their respective offices that the bookshop started to feel a little… different. It stopped feeling like neutral ground and started feeling like – feeling like –

Like home.

It was an unseasonably chilly night in Soho. The bookshop had been closed for hours and Crowley and Aziraphale were sitting quietly on the sofa. Crowley hadn’t been home in nearly a week, other than to properly terrorize his plants.

“Something’s different,” Crowley muttered, just tipsy enough to start talking without thinking. “About the shop, I mean.”

“Well, there are those new books that Adam gave me,” Aziraphale said. “They’re quite good, actually. For being eleven he has a tremendous imagination.”

“No, not that,” Crowley shook his head. “Something… I dunno, feels different.”

Aziraphale hummed and looked at Crowley over the lip of his cup. “Perhaps it’s because you’ve been staying around more, my dear.”

“I don’t – ”

“I know you don’t like crowded spaces, could hardly blame you, what with hell being the way it is. I’ve been working on… opening the space up a little,” Aziraphale looked down at his shoes shyly. “I had hoped you would like it more if it wasn’t so… cramped.”

“Angel, you didn’t have to do that,” Crowley said. “This is your space. It should be what you want it to be.”

“I want it to be with you.”

“And I’m here! I’ve been here. Besides… it’s not so bad.”

Aziraphale perked up. “Oh?”

“It’s… cozy,” Crowley mumbled. He needed more alcohol. He took a heavy swig of his drink and pressed on. “It doesn’t feel like hell. The shop it’s… it’s warm and inviting and… well, you’re here. That makes it worth it every time.”

“Oh, my dear boy.”

“You could use some plants though,” Crowley plowed over whatever sweet thing Aziraphale was going to say. “Liven up the place a little.”

“I’ll remember that.”

Sentimental moment averted, Crowley leaned back on the sofa, just a little too close to Aziraphale than was strictly necessary. The bookshop was warm and cozy, bathed in orange light that reflected off the gilded books. Everything in it was soft, muted colors, pale yellows, warm beige, creamy whites. It felt loved and lived in and, now that Crowley was looking, he could see evidence of Aziraphale straightening up a few wayward stacks of books, of a few pieces of furniture that were missing, opening up the space a little.

Aziraphale’s head dropped onto Crowley’s shoulder and he froze, just for a second. Then he shifted his arm slightly, wrapping it around the angel’s shoulder and pulling him just a little closer. He could sense Aziraphale’s smug grin.

“We could get a cottage,” Aziraphale said softly. “Down by the sea. A place that’s warm like the bookshop but with your plants and, frankly, awful choice of décor.”

Crowley lifted his hand to smack Aziraphale’s head. Gently, of course.

“You _love_ my decoration,” Crowley protested.

“I love you, don’t get confused.”

Crowley snorted.

It sounded nice though. A little house by the sea with all of Aziraphale’s warmth surrounded it. The cozy lived in feeling of a well worn sweater to balance out Crowley’s sleek and minimalist choices.

“I’d like that,” Crowley eventually said.

Aziraphale only answered by cuddling a little closer and Crowley held on a little tighter.


	2. Crash Course

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Crowley teaches Aziraphale to drive
> 
> I called back on my first experience driving to write this and it was MARVELOUS.

“I don’t understand all the fuss,” Aziraphale protested. “Why bother to learn when you can drive? And there are buses and trains and what is the point?”

“The point, angel, is so I don’t have to drive you all the time,” Crowley said. “What if something happened and you needed to drive? It’s only practical.”

“Yes, but… I know how you feel about your car and – ”

“Oh, no, you are _not_ learning to drive in my car,” Crowley shook his head. “We’re borrowing one.”

Aziraphale started to protest but Crowley was already pulling over. Sitting on the curb was a newer car, stylish and silver with Anathema leaning up against it. They were back in Tadfield, out in the country so Aziraphale couldn’t accidentally kill anyone.

“Good luck,” she said. “Bring it back in one piece.”

Confused, Aziraphale took the keys from Anathema and awkwardly sat in the driver’s seat.

It felt strange to be sitting in the wrong seat. Since cars were invented, Aziraphale had only been sitting in the passenger seat of Crowley’s Bentley. Everything felt off centered in the right hand seat.

And there were so many things! Buttons and knobs and levers and measurements of things he didn’t understand. How all of this was supposed to make the machine move didn’t make sense to Aziraphale.

“Put the key in the ignition and turn it on,” Crowley said.

“I’m sorry, ignition?” Aziraphale repeated.

“It’s on the side, the key fits in and then you turn it.”

Oh, like a doorknob or deadbolt lock! Aziraphale found the keyhole, slid the key into place, and turned it. The car engine turned on and Aziraphale suddenly felt _very_ nervous. It was like sitting in the saddle of a horse all over again.

Except this wasn’t a wild animal, this was a vehicle. There was no coaxing it with treats to do what Aziraphale wanted it to do.

“Now what?” Aziraphale asked. “Do I ask it to move? You said you kept your car together by imagination, is that how you drive as well?”

“What? I – no, no,” Crowley shook his head. “You push the brake, that lets you switch gears, and put it into drive. When you let go of the brake the car is going to move. Then you push the gas to go faster.”

“I have no idea what you just said.”

Crowley groaned. “At your feet you have two pedals, like on a bike. There’s the long skinny one, that makes you go faster, and the shorter fat one, that makes you go slower. Put your foot on the wide one.”

The pedals were nothing like a bicycle. But, with some careful looking, Aziraphale put his foot down on the wider pedal.

“This is your gear shift,” Crowley pointed to the handle between their seats. He pointed down a list of letters. “And these letters tell you what gear you’re in. Park, reverse, neutral, and drive.”

“What about – ”

“These are the important ones, don’t worry about the others,” Crowley said. “Put your hand on the gear shift, push the button, and move it down until the D turns orange.”

Push the button? Move it down? Aziraphale put his hand on the gear shift. The plastic was smooth underneath his fingers. Next to him, Crowley let out a sigh and put his hand over Aziraphale’s, guiding his fingers to grip it around the side like a joystick. He pushed their fingers down on a button at the front and pulled it backwards.

The car made a series of strange noises and the engine rumbled a little more.

“Lift your foot up now.”

Aziraphale did and the car _lurched_ forward. With a small gasp, Aziraphale slammed his foot back on the pedal and the car jerked to a sudden stop.

“Next time, try moving more than _three centimeters_ before hitting the brakes!”

“I’m sorry! I panicked!” Aziraphale said. “It went so fast and I wasn’t ready!”

“Put your hands on the wheel and lift your foot up slowly,” Crowley said slowly. “You’ll feel the car move a little bit, but it won’t be much. I promise, Aziraphale.”

Slowly, Aziraphale eased his foot up. As he did so, the car gently started to roll forward. Oh, this wasn’t so bad! The car engine rumbled and the gravel beneath the tires crunched.

“Turn the wheel, Aziraphale,” Crowley instructed. “Like a bike.”

Aziraphale took the wheel and turned it gently to the side. The car hardly moved.

“Keep turning.”

He kept turning the wheel but the car wasn’t turning. Aziraphale had almost turned the wheel completely upside down, shouldn’t the car have turned to the left by now? Surely it didn’t take that much to –

“Look out!”

The little road they were driving on had ended and Aziraphale was driving the car straight towards a field and directly into the lone tree standing among the grass. Panicking, Aziraphale slammed his foot down, forgetting which pedal was which.

And the car _jumped_ forward with a growl of the engine and, oh good lord, Aziraphale was going to crash into the tree and they would be discorporated which would be extremely awkward now, considering their last visit to the office. The tree was coming closer and the car rumbled down the field and –

Then it all stopped.

Crowley’s hand was out and the entire car was frozen. No sound of the engine, no rumble beneath his seat, none of the gauges were flashing, everything just stopped.

“I am so sorry, Crowley, I should have been paying attention and – ”

“It’s alright, angel, no harm done,” Crowley said. “Didn’t even hit the tree.”

“I don’t think I’m cut out for driving, dear,” Aziraphale puttered. “It’s all so much and far too complicated for me. If I need to go somewhere, I’m sure I can miracle my way there.”

“Yes, well, maybe another time? If you’re interested.”

Aziraphale turned and gave Crowley a bright smile. “The only thing I’m interested in is spending more time with you, my dear.”

Crowley flushed and awkwardly looked out the window. “Whatever… so long as you don’t kill us I guess we can keep trying.”

“Oh! Maybe I’ll teach you something too!” Aziraphale said delightedly. “Then we can spend more time together.”

Aziraphale tried not to smile too smugly as Crowley nodded, red to the tips of his ears and too embarrassed to speak.


	3. Dancing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Aziraphale teaches Crowley the gavotte.
> 
> This turned into just dancing. Like an old married couple.
> 
> I played a fair amount of gavottes when I was in orchestra and my sisters play jazz, so this was a lot of fun to explore what kind of orchestral music they would like. Aziraphale has fondness for baroque era but his real passion is for the classical era while Crowley loved the romantic era, especially as it turned to post modern.

Crowley stared at Aziraphale blankly.

“You still play music on _that_ old thing?”

“It’s authentic!” Aziraphale insisted. “You can’t possibly dance to one of Handel’s gavottes without the proper music!”

“You can have the proper music without resorting to that old record player!”

Aziraphale only ‘tsked’ and set up the record regardless. He had moved the furniture in the bookshop to allow for enough space for the two of them to dance. They hadn’t even put on the music yet and Crowley was already regretting it.

“Why did I even agree to this?”

“To spend time together, dear!” Aziraphale was beaming with pride as the record player scratched and music started to play.

Crowley was never that fond of Handel. Sure, he was one of the great composers to grace Hell, along with Bach and Mozart, but Crowley’s favorite musical era came much later than Handel. Nearly 200 years later. But if this was what Aziraphale loved then Crowley would suffer through it.

To be honest, Crowley hadn’t given much thought to orchestral music since his Bentley decided to have an ongoing relationship with Freddie Mercury. It was hard to enjoy Beethoven or Debussy when everything eventually turned to Queen. Oh, he _remembered_ each musical era come and go, watched the riots after _Carmen_ first aired and laughed. To hear Handel come through Aziraphale’s old record player almost sent Crowley back to the 1700s.

Try as he might, Crowley, for the life of him, couldn’t dance.

Well, he could, just not very well.

“It’s this music!” Crowley said after missing the steps. Again. “Too crisp and clean and I keep missing the beats! Demons weren’t made to dance in such perfect order.”

“How else are you supposed to dance?” Aziraphale looked scandalized. “Aren’t they supposed to be like this? Uniform with each step planned out to the letter so everyone knows what is supposed to be done. Those are the only dances I’ve seen!”

“Because you stopped dancing after the 18th century, angel.”

Crowley snapped his fingers and the record scratched, skipped, and a roar of trumpets echoed through the shop. Crowley didn’t spend a lot of time in America during the jazz revolution but he popped in a few times to learn how to swing dance.

The look on Aziraphale’s face was nearly priceless.

“This is… this is American music!”

Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand in his and led him through a few steps. “Yes, angel, it is.”

“It’s so… different,” Aziraphale, with his perfect rhythm, didn’t falter at the swing beats, not even when Crowley spun him around. “I think… I think I could learn this. Although,” Crowley pulled Aziraphale in close and bent him backwards in a half-dip, “I thought I was supposed to be teaching you!”

“And here I thought we were just spending time together.”

Aziraphale laughed and let Crowley lead him through a short swing dance.

“I suppose that’s what matters,” Aziraphale said. “Although you have no sense of rhythm, dear.”

“I’ll show you rhythm!”

The record skipped again and started up a new piece of music. Aziraphale gasped with delight at the melody.

“Isn’t this a little backwards in time?” he said coyly even as he took the lead from Crowley. “Strauss was born a hundred years before swing dancing.”

“It’s a waltz, angel, _the_ waltz!” Crowley only stumbled a little as Aziraphale led him in a perfect box step waltz. “Even a demon can dance to this waltz. Humans dance to it when they’re children.”

“Of course, my dear,” Aziraphale smiled serenely and pulled Crowley across the floor effortlessly. He took a particularly sharp turn, spinning Crowley out at arm’s length, and only laughed a little when Crowley stumbled. “You never did learn classical dancing.”

Crowley willed the music to change to music he did learn to dance. Something, anything, from his dancing days of the 70s. He was expecting some disco bop to show Aziraphale what he really could do (Boogie Wonderland for example) but the record seamlessly changed to Barry White.

And, well, it wasn’t _really_ disco, but it was close enough. Crowley broke free from Aziraphale and really danced. His hips swayed, his arms sashayed, and he thought about bringing back his mustache just for the aesthetic.

_Can’t you see it’s you  
_ _You make me feel this way_

Aziraphale only laughed.

“See what you missed out on, angel?” Crowley shimmed forward. “This is the kind of dancing demons do.”

“You look ridiculous!” Aziraphale said. “Just shaking back and forth isn’t dancing, no matter how alluring you try to be.”

“But I am alluring.”

Aziraphale grabbed Crowley by the hips with a laugh. “Please tell me people didn’t really dance like that.”

“Oh, they still do,” Crowley rested his arms on Aziraphale’s shoulders, linking his fingers behind the angel’s head.

Aziraphale’s hands spanned up Crowley’s waist and the music shifted again. Something soft and melodious came through the old record player and they started to sway back and forth. Crowley softened and closed his eyes.

He leaned forward until their foreheads touched and Aziraphale’s hands tightened in Crowley’s jacket. This was dancing too, of a sort. When humans stopped learning dances with specific steps and careful rules, they started to dance to be close to each other.

Crowley could see the appeal.

This close, he could feel Aziraphale’s every breath, every hitch in that steady breathing. His fingers toyed with the fluffy ends of Aziraphale’s hair and for a moment, it felt like the world had stopped spinning. Nothing else mattered, just this angel in his arms, swaying sedately back and forth to slow music.

_Take my hand, take my whole life too  
_ _For I can’t help falling in love with you_

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said softly.

“Yes, angel?”

“May I kiss you?”

“Always.”

They were already nose to nose. Aziraphale only had to lift his head slightly, Crowley tipped his own head to the side and they were kissing. Soft and gentle like starlight. Aziraphale’s hands trailed up Crowley’s back, fisting into his jacket right where his wings would be. Crowley moved his hands forward, cupping Aziraphale’s cheeks.

Crowley pulled back first, eyes half lidded, just to see the blissful expression on Aziraphale’s face. He ran his thumbs along the angel’s cheeks and couldn’t help the fond smile breaking across his face. The music changed again and Crowley started to suspect the record player was not as innocent as it appeared.

_I have loved you for a thousand years  
_ _I’ll love you for a thousand more_

“Kiss me again,” Aziraphale whispered.

“I thought we were dancing,” Crowley couldn’t help but say.

Aziraphale opened his eyes and snapped his fingers. The record scratched to a halt and, without the music, there was nothing to block the sound of Crowley’s rapid breaths.

“I think I prefer this to dancing.”

And Crowley could never say no to Aziraphale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs for listening (in order of their dancing):  
> Handel's Concerto Grosso in Bflat major, Op. 3 No. 2, Gavotte (any Gavotte piece will do for the feel though)  
> "In the Mood" and "Moonlight Serenade" by Glenn Miller  
> "Blue Danube" by Johann Strauss II  
> "Boogie Wonderland" by Earth, Wind and Fire  
> "You're the First, the Last, My Everything" by Barry White  
> "Can't Help Falling in Love" by Elvis Presley (although I chose the Michael Buble cover)  
> and, of course  
> "A Thousand Years" by Christina Perri


	4. Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: AU, they fail to stop the apocalypse.
> 
> I changed it a little for this fic, since I want each prompt to take place in a canon post-notpocalypse world. So not an AU, but still inspired by the prompt.

Aziraphale never understood the concept of sleeping. Of course he did sleep, a few hours every night. Mostly out of boredom, to be honest. There just wasn’t much to do during those wee hours of the night when the very city seemed to sleep. Not to mention his corporeal form required at least a few hours of sleep to continue functioning. Aziraphale _could_ miracle his way to wakefulness but it didn’t work as well as the real thing.

As he and Crowley put the finishing touches on moving to South Downs, Crowley spent even more time in the bookshop, counting down the days until his lease was up. He’d even moved several plants, perfectly green and beautiful and _terrified_. And, just as Crowley said, the plants did liven up the shop quite a bit. It made Aziraphale excited to move in together.

After the dancing incident, Aziraphale found himself seeking out Crowley’s kisses. Each one more soft and tender than the last. Quick kisses before Crowley went back to his flat for more plants. Warmer kisses in the dying sunlight, fresh from dinner and so happy to be alive, enjoying the feeling of each other, together without heaven or hell to interfere. Quiet kisses before Crowley crawled into bed, curling up next to Aziraphale and falling asleep.

Crowley lived for his sleep and insisted on cuddling up beside Aziraphale every night. Without his books, or ability to move for that matter, Aziraphale could do nothing but sleep.

The problem with sleeping was the dreaming. He’d never dreamed before, was never asleep long enough for the dreams to take over.

And the problem with dreaming was the nightmares.

_The world had ended. Adam’s anger was so furious and all encompassing that it encompassed the entire Earth. The horsemen had completed their purpose and the nuclear bombs were armed and aimed. Adam’s eyes glowed red and he joined Death._

_The bombs fired and the world burned._

_Aziraphale stood in the desolate wasteland next to Crowley and watched as the armies of heaven and hell arrived. Angels that Aziraphale had hardly seen over the last six millennia were armed and stood in each little squad – perfect little soldiers. The demons horded together, bristling with fury and growling at the assembled army._

_“It’s over,” Crowley said and took off his sunglasses. “I’m sorry, angel.”_

_“There must be something else,” but even as Aziraphale said it, he watched Gabriel lift his arm in triumph and heard Beelzebub scream a war cry. “I… I’m sorry, Crowley. I should have left with you.”_

_The two armies collided with a sound to shatter the universe. Aziraphale flinched and, unconsciously, backed into Crowley, who put his arm around him. This is what Aziraphale wanted to avoid. He didn’t want a battle that destroyed humanity._

_“I’m sorry.”_

_And then Crowley was pulling away. Aziraphale reached for him, for his partner in everything, his companion for the past six thousand years, his_ soulmate _, and felt only empty air. Stunned, faltering, Aziraphale could only watch Crowley saunter away to hell’s side of the war._

_“No, Crowley, please.”_

_“It’s over, Aziraphale. This is the end.”_

_Aziraphale had cried over Crowley many times over. He cried when Crowley asked for holy water. He cried when he told Crowley it was over at the bandstand. But none of those tears compared to the tears Aziraphale was feeling now._

_Like part of his heart was walking away._

_Aziraphale’s body was frozen in place. The sound of battle echoed across the burning wasteland of what remained of Earth and he couldn’t do anything but watch Crowley join the fray._

_He was an angel. He was supposed to care and fight for heaven. He had wanted to do it, once upon a time, wanted to win the war._

_But then there would be no sushi, no books, no musicals, no Crowley._

_And then, to his horror, Aziraphale watched as Crowley was smitten down by an angel. Crowley fell to the ground, blood already welling up across his chest where the sword had sliced across him._

_“No, no, no,” Aziraphale whispered. “No!”_

_Crowley hated Shakespeare’s tragedies, he always preferred the funny plays. Aziraphale didn’t realize it was because they were in their own tragedy. Six thousand years and still nothing said between them._

_“I love him, no, please!”_

_So many regrets. They could have had forever. They could have had an entire planet, the universe at their hands, but now they had nothing._

_“No!”_

Aziraphale woke up with a jolt. He rolled over and felt his world shift and then he was on the hard floor of his bedroom, blankets tangled around his legs. The sunlight was higher than he was used to seeing and he was surprisingly disoriented. A strange feeling for a supernatural entity.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley’s face appeared over the bed. “Angel, what’s wrong?”

“I… I don’t know,” Aziraphale felt moisture beneath his eyes. “I… I was dreaming. I’ve never dreamt before.”

“What were you dreaming about?” Crowley asked. His voice was groggy and he rubbed his eyes. Crowley leaned over the bed and smiled softly down on Aziraphale, who was still lying on the floor disoriented.

“I don’t remember…” Aziraphale lied and slowly sat up. He leaned up against the bed, nearly face to face with Crowley. Crowley blinked slowly and kissed Aziraphale. Aziraphale hummed contentedly and leaned in closer.

“Tell me. Please.”

Aziraphale chased after Crowley’s lips, trying to kiss him again, but Crowley was having none of it and just pulled backwards. Aziraphale pouted but Crowley didn’t budge. With a heavy sigh, Aziraphale leaned against the bed and reached for Crowley’s hand.

“We failed,” Aziraphale whispered as he laced their fingers together. “I had a dream that the end came. The war happened and… you died and we never had… this. I never told you…”

“Told me what, angel?”

“That I love you. That I’ve loved you since the beginning.”

Crowley pulled up Aziraphale’s hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. “It’s just a nightmare. Not even a real dream.”

“Tell me one of yours,” Aziraphale said.

Everything in the bedroom was soft and muted and, as the remnants of the dream faded, Aziraphale felt the exhaustion start to creep up on him again. There was still a haze in the air between them, Crowley’s golden eyes half open and a lazy smile on his face. Aziraphale blinked, long and slow and smiled back.

“I usually dream about this,” Crowley muttered. He brought their joined hands to Aziraphale’s face, thumb rubbing across his cheek. “You and me. Together. Just like this.”

“Have you ever had nightmares?”

“Not really,” Crowley shrugged. “I can tell when I’m dreaming and change it before it gets too bad. But… yeah… I’ve have nightmares. Mostly about losing you. Or… the end happening and you being taken from me.”

“And… how do you cope with it?”

“Wake up, see you, move on,” Crowley said. “All nightmares fade, angel. Just takes time.”

“Promise you won’t leave,” Aziraphale said. “Promise me, Crowley.”

“I’ve been with you for 6,000 years. I’m not about to leave now.”

Aziraphale crawled back onto the bed and pulled Crowley up for a searing kiss. He kissed Crowley until his dream – his nightmare – faded from his mind. Crowley was _here._ He was _alive_ and in Aziraphale’s arms. Aziraphale didn’t think about the end of the world, didn’t think about how he was crying even as Crowley wiped his tears away.

They had each other and that was enough.


	5. The Middle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Aziraphale falls and Crowley rises.
> 
> Due to some numbering errors, there's actually 31 prompts so I combined two prompts for this chapter, leaving me with a 30 day challenge.

The cottage was perfect. It was small, right on the edge of the coast, close to the village but far enough away to avoid any awkward questions from the locals. It had a large garden, perfect for Crowley, including window boxes for flowers. The inside was warm and cozy, decorated with Aziraphale’s well loved furniture and Crowley’s plants that survived the trip.

They had one large bedroom, a smaller guest room, a living room that looked more like a library, a functional kitchen and attached dining room. The moment Crowley and Aziraphale walked through the door, they knew it was home.

That had been nearly a week ago. Life out in the country was different to life in London and it had taken most of the week to get used to the quiet countryside, the sound of the ocean right outside their window. But as the week went by, Crowley could start to understand why Adam loved Tadfield. There was something nice about the quiet and peaceful living. Something slow and easy and soft.

Sure, Aziraphale missed dining at the Ritz and it took Crowley time to get used to being exposed out in the middle of nowhere, but on the whole, being out in the country felt _good_.

It was on day eight when something started to change.

Crowley woke up slowly and lazily. With no temptations to do and no Armageddon to stop and no imminent move, there wasn’t much for a halfway decent demon to do. Aziraphale was already up and gone – probably down buying fresh produce from the farmer’s market.

It was just another day in eternity.

After properly terrorizing his plants, both indoor and out, Crowley walked down to the beach. Crowley had seen a fair number of beaches during his time on Earth but there was something special about the sheer white cliffs beside the beach and ocean that he was starting to love.

Standing on the cliffs edge, far away from prying eyes, Crowley could close his eyes, stretch out his wings, and pretend he was flying. The updraft caught through the feathers and he could almost imagine flying through the sky and space again, among the nebulas and stars he so lovingly crafted.

Demons don’t fly. Sure, they had the same wings as angels, but they didn’t fly. That was why most demons in hell hid their wings. What was the point of having them if one couldn’t even fly away?

While the other demons resented and rejected their wings, Crowley held onto them. They may be black and they may never allow him to fly, but they were still his wings, still proof that, once, he had been an angel.

Crowley breathed in the salty air. His wings unfurled, far away from prying mortal eyes. The wind picked up and Crowley pretended he was flying.

And suddenly he was.

Not very high and not for long, but he was flying. His wings had caught the wind and lifted him several feet into the air. He panicked and pulled his wings in close and crashed into the ground.

Demons weren’t meant to fly. That was taken away when they fell. No demon had flown since the first great war and none had flown since.

Until now.

Sitting in the living room turned library, Crowley anxiously tapped his foot. He was curled up in one of their many armchairs and trying not to think too hard about what happened on the cliff. There must have been some mistake, some change in gravity to let his wings lift him off the ground. He wasn’t _really_ flying, just gliding.

But even as Crowley thought it, he knew different. The demon’s curse meant he should even glide. His wings shouldn’t let him fly or glide or be in the air at all. Something must have happened – something to do with the Almighty no doubt.

When Aziraphale came crashing into their cottage, clutching a bag of fruit like his life depended on it, Crowley didn’t even budge.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale cried out. “Oh, Crowley, something’s happened!”

Aziraphale practically ran into the living room, collapsing onto the chair next to Crowley’s. The last time Crowley saw the angel look this panicked was when he picked up Anathema’s book and lied about it. Pushing aside his own problems, Crowley sat up straight and focused on Aziraphale.

“What happened?” he asked. “Wait, why are you wearing sunglasses?”

Aziraphale blushed and turned away. “That’s… I don’t know what happened! I think the Almighty is punishing me, dear. I was buying food and then – and then – ” Aziraphale pulled his sunglasses off and, slowly, opened his eyes.

“Oh.”

Aziraphale had the bluest eyes Crowley had ever seen. Soft blue eyes that were as gentle as a newborn’s blanket, the blue of a warm summer sky, of the ocean at rest. Crowley loved Aziraphale’s eyes, how expressive those blues could be.

They were still blue, deep navy and pale periwinkle, with a distinctive, vertical slit for a pupil. The more Crowley looked at those eyes, still so expressive and beautiful, the more he realized he was looking in a mirror.

“It’s just awful! I don’t understand!”

Crowley reached over and took Aziraphale’s hand in his. “I think I might.”

As Crowley explained what happened to him on the cliffside, Aziraphale grew more and more still and his grip on Crowley’s hand grew tighter and tighter. Demons don’t fly and angels don’t have reptile eyes.

“But what does it mean?” Aziraphale asked.

“It means we’re on our own side,” Crowley said. “Not heaven, not hell, just you and me.”

“Meaning… you’ve risen and I’ve fallen? Just a little?”

“I think so. And now we’re somewhere in the middle.”

“Just like humans.”

Crowley smiled. “Just like humans.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you look up blue lizard eyes, that's what Aziraphale's eyes look like.
> 
> And now I have to keep those eyes for the REST OF THIS FIC.


	6. Five Years Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Newt and Anathema's wedding.

Years passed as years do. For two immortal beings, five years were merely a blink. Their cottage filled up with knick-knacks and plants and books. Aziraphale grew used to his new blue eyes and Crowley re-learned how to fly. The bookshop continued to sell zero books and heaven and hell left them entirely alone.

Winters were cold and brutal and the summers warm and windy. They spent rainy autumn days inside, Crowley curled around Aziraphale in front of their fire, surrounded by books and cocoa. In the springtime Crowley slithered around his garden, hissing threats to each of the plants to grow perfectly. Or else. Aziraphale, standing at the window, only laughed to himself at Crowley’s actions.

Their cottage was revered by the village for its perfect garden, the most beautiful plants, green and vibrant no matter the weather. The flowers were glorious, brilliant yellow and pink tulips, deep purples pansies and dark red roses and Crowley preened every time someone complimented the garden.

Over the years they kept an ear to the ground for the former antichrist and descendent of Agnes Nutter. Nothing serious, just checking in every year to make sure Adam’s powers were under control and that Anathema was acclimatizing to England, and keeping her witchy powers under the radar.

Crowley also insisted on keeping in touch with Warlock and Aziraphale often came back from the mailbox with letters from Warlock, all addressed to his dear Nanny. The strange rambling letters of a teenager going through school and struggling with his homelife as a child of the American Ambassador.

“He just wants guidance,” Crowley said as he carefully wrote a letter back to Warlock. “His mom’s out of touch, his dad’s never around, all he had was, well, me. Apparently he’s having a crisis involving a cute boy in one of his classes.”

“He’s sixteen, he’ll get over it,” Aziraphale said.

“I told him to ask him out.”

Aziraphale smiled softly. Crowley was fond of all children but he did have a particularly soft spot for Warlock. Among the letters, to Aziraphale’s surprise, was a creamy white envelope with gold embossed lettering. It was addressed to Crowley and Aziraphale from Anathema.

Inside was a simple wedding invitation in the same gold embossed calligraphy and a small portrait of Anathema and Newt. Aziraphale brightened up as he pulled out the invitation. A small ceremony in the only chapel in Tadfield.

“Didn’t they hook up right after they met or something?” Crowley asked when Aziraphale showed him the invitation. “Bit soon for a wedding.”

“It’s been five years! That’s practically respectable for humans!”

Crowley shrugged and turned back to his letter.

“Of course, we should ask what the colors are, to make sure we match,” Aziraphale said. “And I’ll have to close the shop for the day – though that’s no problem and – ”

“Wait, we’re _going_?” Crowley exclaimed.

“Of course, my dear,” Aziraphale said. “It would be rude not to. Especially after you hit her with your car. And without her book, or that last prophecy, neither of us would be here anymore. I suppose we’ll have to get them a gift as well…”

And Aziraphale descended into soft murmuring about proper wedding gifts, leaving Crowley gaping, his letter to Warlock completely forgotten. Despite the demon’s best efforts, Aziraphale called Anathema to confirm they would be attending the wedding and also sent the RSVP by mail.

“Do cheer up,” Aziraphale said after hanging up the phone. “It’s not until next month, plenty of time for us to get ready.”

“Angel, aren’t you forgetting something?” Crowley asked.

“No, I don’t believe so,” Aziraphale said slowly.

“I’m a demon,” Crowley said. “I don’t do well in churches, in case you forgot. Even if you’re okay with me shuffling along the back wall the entire time, burning my feet, I doubt Anathema would appreciate it.”

Aziraphale felt as though a bucket of water was thrown over him. He hadn’t forgotten the pain that Crowley suffered to rescue him in the 40s, hopping from foot to foot as he stood on consecrated ground. However, in the euphoria of a wedding, he’d entire forgotten that most weddings take place in churches – upon holy ground.

“You go,” Crowley said suddenly. “I know you want to, angel. I’ll stay and watch the house.”

And before Aziraphale could protest, Crowley was out of the cottage in a rush of wings.

It was always surprising how well Crowley could avoid Aziraphale even when they lived in the same house and shared a bed. To his credit, Crowley had thousands of years to perfect this kind of passive aggressive behavior, but Aziraphale did not appreciate being on the receiving end of it.

There had been times in the past when they didn’t see each other for decades, for centuries even. Each time they ran into each other was a surprise, a delight for Aziraphale to see his best friend. But when the impending apocalypse came they spent several years together helping to raise Warlock. Then when the final week arrived they spent every day together until, finally, they were living together.

Aziraphale didn’t realize how much he was leaning on Crowley’s presence until he was gone. He’d grown so used to him, always right beside him, he’d forgotten how to live without him. Aziraphale always missed Crowley when they were apart, but those decades apart didn’t feel nearly as lonely as the days when Crowley was actively avoiding him.

The wedding steadily approached and Aziraphale hadn’t taken back his RSVP. He was still holding onto the idea of him and Crowley both attending the wedding. Even if they had to sit outside and watch it from the window. Aziraphale didn’t want to take away this opportunity from Crowley, this special moment for Anathema and Newt.

Out of final desperation, Aziraphale called Anathema.

“This is Anathema Device,” she answered promptly.

“Anathema! It’s Aziraphale, how’s the wedding planning?”

Anathema cheerfully told Aziraphale about the plans, how Adam and his friends were excited about it and Newt was practically falling apart with nerves and how Shadwell shouted himself hoarse when he discovered his only witchfinder was marrying a witch.

“You do know that we’re not human, right?” Aziraphale said gently.

“Oh, I’ve known that since you hit my bike,” Anathema laughed. “Then after what happened at the airbase, I put two and two together. Angel and demon, right?”

“Yeah, about that,” Aziraphale stumbled into a quick explanation about Crowley and the church. “If it’s alright with you, we can wait outside. We still want to be here for you on your special day. It was such an honor to be invited.”

“It’ll be just fine,” Anathema said. “Just having the two of you want to come is awesome. Adam and his friends had questions for you and would be devastated if you don’t show up.”

If only Aziraphale could find Crowley and explain it all to him.

Aziraphale sat out in the yard beside Crowley’s favorite plant. He didn’t know the name of it but he knew that Crowley spent more of his free time by this specific plant than any of the others in the garden. Hopefully if he sat here long enough, eventually Crowley would slither in.

The sun started to set and a cool breeze blew over the ocean. Aziraphale curled up a little and waited. He stared up at the sky as it turned from blue to dark purple to eventual black with stars scattered across the sky – nebulas and planets that Crowley boasted of creating.

Crowley would eventually come by this plant, Aziraphale reasoned as the time pressed on and the sky grew darker. It must be well past midnight. Anathema and Newt’s wedding was four days away and Aziraphale wanted to go with Crowley to it. He wanted to share this moment with him.

Weddings were always something that Aziraphale enjoyed about humanity. As a being of love, Aziraphale was drawn to weddings. There was no day more full of unconditional love than wedding days and, every time Aziraphale stumbled upon a wedding, he was blown away with the sheer force of love.

Maybe that was why Crowley didn’t want to go, Aziraphale thought a little bitterly. As a demon, Crowley wasn’t as attuned to the feeling of love. Maybe being around weddings, around that love, reminded Crowley of his fall. Maybe he didn’t want to go at all.

The plant had small white flowers and Aziraphale stared at the delicate blooms, hoping that it would give him insight into Crowley’s recent behavior. How surprising that Aziraphale, who had known Crowley for thousands of years, felt lost trying to understand why Crowley had vanished at the idea of going to a wedding.

“You are beautiful,” Aziraphale gently touched the petals, the plant seemed to grow a little underneath of Aziraphale’s praise.

He knew that flowers meant different things. Back in the Victorian time, each bouquet was laced with hidden meanings. Aziraphale, if he knew the name of the flower, could attach a meaning to it, but he couldn’t match flower names to images. Looking at this plant, this gorgeous white flower, he wanted to know what it was called, what it meant, why Crowley spent so much time beside it.

“You’re gonna ssspoil them,” a hiss came from underneath the plant.

Slithering out was Crowley, tongue flickering in the cool night air. In snake form, Crowley curled around and around until his form shifted and slid and, in human form, Crowley was sitting cross legged in front of Aziraphale.

He looked tired, Aziraphale noticed. He didn’t have his sunglasses on and sat a little hunched over, arms wrapped around himself. Crowley was as closed off as he was back in Rome. If Aziraphale could break through back then he could easily break through now.

“What’s it called?” Aziraphale asked.

“Zephyranthes.”

The name meant nothing to Aziraphale.

“It’s also called rainflower,” Crowley said. He looked down at the ground.

Aziraphale froze where he was gently touching the flower. Rainflower: I love you back. I must atone for my sins. I will never forget you.

“It made me think of you,” Crowley muttered. “It’s always made me think of you.”

Aziraphale reached over and took Crowley’s hand in his. His fingers were cold and Aziraphale pressed his lips to them.

“Crowley, my love,” Aziraphale whispered against Crowley’s fingers, pressing a kiss to each one. “Why did you run away?”

“I can’t go into a church,” Crowley said softly. “I never thought about it that much but then the invitation came and… and…”

“Anathema is more than happy to let us wait outside,” Aziraphale said. “We can still be part of the reception and – ”

“That’s not the problem!” Crowley shook his head.

“You said you didn’t want to stand shuffling in the back of the church and ruin her day.”

Crowley gave Aziraphale a look of exasperated fondness. “You really think that’s the only reason?”

“Well, you’re not giving me much else to go on, dear.”

“What if you and I got married,” Crowley said hurriedly and Aziraphale froze. “How would that work in a church?”

“It doesn’t have to be in a church,” Aziraphale said, determined to keep the flopping in his stomach under control. The mere mention of him and Crowley getting married had his entire body warm and flushed. “Could be in a park or in a house. As long as the papers are signed…”

“You don’t want something traditional?” Crowley said. “You don’t want the old chapel with an aging priest, us exchanging vows and rings? You don’t want the reception and the cake and the first dance and – ”

“If you meant it,” Aziraphale said slowly. “If you're serious, Crowley, then I don’t need any of that. I love you and I would be honored to call you my husband. I don’t need the pomp or tradition if I can call you mine.”

Crowley’s face broke into a soft smile, his eyes tearing up a little. “Angel, I’ve always been yours.”

“Then we’ll go to the wedding?”

“Yes, yes, we’ll go.”

The wedding was delightful. Anathema’s family spared no expenses on their daughter’s wedding. Especially as she was marrying the man who helped her fulfill her destiny. There was a great deal of teasing from Anathema’s side of the family about Newt and some prophecy of Agnes Nutter’s.

It was simple and tasteful and Aziraphale was over bursting with love. The Them had shot up like weeds in the last five years and Dog was still trotting behind Adam, perhaps a little slower than before. During the reception, Adam managed to shake off his friends and come sit with Crowley and Aziraphale at the farthest table.

“I was hoping you’d come,” he said. His voice had deepened and his hair was much shorter than before. He was broad around the shoulders and looked like a strong and budding athlete. “Can we talk?”

“Of course, dear boy,” Aziraphale said pleasantly. “I expect it’s been a strange five years for you, hasn’t it?”

“Not really,” Adam shrugged. “Things are mostly back to normal. I don’t have those powers anymore. I guess since I stopped the apocalypse they sorta went away. But that’s okay. It’s kind of nice to just be normal again. But that’s not what I want to talk about.”

Adam looked at Aziraphale and over at Crowley. Even without his powers, Adam was still the former antichrist. He may have rejected Satan as his father but that didn’t change his genetics. He chose freedom, he chose humanity and he fixed everything he’d broken, but if Aziraphale looked at Adam too deeply, he could still see the shadow of darkness lingering on him.

“I wanted to talk about what happened five years ago,” Adam said. “You said that you’d be by my side, no matter what happened but then, after it was all over, I never saw you again.”

In the distance, a champagne cork popped and people laughed. Birds twittered in the warm summer breeze and, underneath the table, Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand in his.

“Well,” Aziraphale said. “I suppose it started in a garden.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Technically in the realm of this fic, since Crowley and Aziraphale are sort of half-fallen, Crowley could stand on holy ground and not be injured, but neither of them even thought of trying that.


	7. United

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Crowley and Aziraphale's Wedding
> 
> A quick update since this chapter is a direct continuation of the last one.

“But why?” Adam insisted after the whole story was told.

The sun had dropped low in the sky, casting a golden orange glow over the remnants of the wedding reception. The sky turned dusty pink and lavender, buttery orange sun slowly sinking below the horizon. Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s hand. The reception had died down considerably, Newt and Anathema were preparing to leave on their honeymoon, and Adam still wasn’t satisfied.

“You’re human,” Aziraphale said. “We didn’t want to meddle with that. Because of your parents and your friends you were able to stop Armageddon. If we were to interfere then you wouldn’t be who you are. It was best that we left you alone.”

“Left me alone?” Adam repeated. “Think about it from my perspective! I watched my friends help stop the end of the world, after I accidentally started it, and suddenly you lot show up and threaten to kill me. After that goes wrong and Anathema stopped the world blowing up, some demon threatens to tell Satan about me. The next thing I know, I’m in this alternate dimension with you two, being told that I can stop the world and that you’ll be there no matter what. And the way you talked… it was like… like you _knew_ me.”

Adam slouched in his seat. The last rays of the sun caught his hair and glowed.

“I thought… for a moment… I thought you would be like, my guardian angels,” Adam muttered. “To make sure I didn’t do something like that again.”

“We’d been checking in on you, don’t worry,” Crowley said.

Adam glared. “The last five years you’ve been checking in on me and didn’t bother to talk? Didn’t think you two had some explaining to do?”

“You turned out much better without us,” Aziraphale said. “Was probably for the best that we kept it that way.”

“But you stayed in touch with Warlock? The not antichrist?” Adam snapped.

Understanding dawned on Crowley. “Are you jealous?”

Adam’s face flushed. “No!” he protested. “Why would I be jealous of some diplomat son who was half raised by you two? You were supposed to be godfathers of the antichrist and he was supposed to be him so why would I be jealous?”

“Oh, Adam,” Aziraphale crooned. “You have every right to be jealous. You’re an extraordinary boy and it would have been an honor to help raise you but, if I can be frank, I’m afraid we would have butchered the job quite a bit.”

“Well,” Adam said shifting awkwardly in his seat. “I’m only sixteen, y’know. Would be nice to have other adults that weren’t my parents to talk with…” he trailed off. “Especially with the whole antichrist business. They don’t get it. Even Pepper and Brian and Wensley don’t really get it. It’d be nice to have someone who did.”

“Well then,” Aziraphale grinned and put a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “Consider us your new godfathers, Adam. You’re quite right, after all, it wasn’t fair to leave you after everything that had gone on. You can call on us any time you’d like, even if it’s just to talk.”

Adam didn’t immediately sit up straight, but his glower softened and he spare a small smile for Aziraphale.

“Think about how much easier my homework’s gonna be now,” Adam said. “Wensley is going to _hate_ it.”

Having Adam as a godson was much more difficult that Crowley anticipated. With Warlock, he and Aziraphale had set titles and characters they hid behind. The nanny and the gardener. This time, there was no hiding and Adam frequently dropped by their cottage unannounced.

It took Crowley several months before he stopped jumping every time the bell rang. Adam didn’t always come alone and Aziraphale looked forward to every visit from Adam and his friends. They would sit in the living room, reading and talking and Crowley would do nothing but watch and watch and watch.

If they were human, Crowley would think in these moments of domesticity, this was the life he’d want to have. Him and Aziraphale and a little family of their own. Helping Adam and his friends, however, would have to do.

It was a dreary winter day, cold air and a hard, frozen earth. There was no sun, just clouds and a frigid breeze coming in over the ocean. It was a bone biting cold, a bitter air that cut through clothes and hurt to breathe in. Adam and his friends were between terms and wanted to visit Aziraphale and Crowley once the holidays were over.

“It was all Pepper’s idea, if you must know,” Brian explained as Aziraphale ushered them into the sitting room, a blazing fire on the hearth. His hair was down to his shoulders and his face had the look of perpetual scruffiness.

“It was not!” Pepper protested. She had cut her hair short and it grew around her head like a cotton ball. She punched Brian on the shoulder as she passed him. “Wensley wanted to know more about ancient Greece and I suggested we visit you.”

“Actually, you suggested we visit because Adam had a present for them,” Wensley insisted. Still thin and reedy, Wensley was the tallest of the Them and kept his hair stylishly swooped from his forehead. He had traded in his sweater vests for a smart leather jacket and would not have looked out of place at a rock concert if not for his propensity to constantly carry books.

Aziraphale turned to Adam. “A present? Adam, you didn’t have to.”

“Good, because I didn’t,” Adam said stubbornly. He looked around the cottage. “You didn’t even decorate! Even if I brought a present there’s no tree for me to put it under.”

Aziraphale snapped his fingers and the cottage was suddenly decorated for Christmas. There was a huge fir tree in the corner, covered with tinsel and ribbons and multicolored lights. Sprigs of holly were on the windowsills and there were candles on the mantelpiece. Crowley looked up and saw mistletoe hanging above his head and snorted. Subtlety was not one of Aziraphale’s strong points.

It was the warmest the home had been since they moved in. Certainly, Aziraphale and Crowley filled the cottage with everything they owned and the love they held for each other, but their love was old and well worn, soft and warm. There was a different love that came with four teenagers, each of them loud and bright like a supernova.

They argued over each other, hardly waiting for one to stop talking before starting a new topic of conversation. Aziraphale flowed effortlessly between them, moving the conversation along and away from any sticky, uncomfortable subjects.

“How long have you been married?” Wensley was asking Aziraphale. Crowley, who hadn’t been paying much attention to the string of conversation was suddenly very aware.

“Well, t-that is to say,” Aziraphale stuttered.

“Only because, since you’re not exactly human, it must be different for you, right?” Wensley continued. “And since gender is just a social construct, as Pepper always says, and you two can present however you want, you wouldn’t have to wait for marriage to be legal. So when did you get married?”

“Um, we haven’t set a date yet,” Aziraphale muttered, looking down at his hands.

“You’re not married yet?!”

“It’s been six thousand years!”

“And you already live together!”

Aziraphale turned to Crowley for help. He looked overwhelmed by the teenagers and their incessant questions. Knowing better than to leave him at the mercy of four curious teenagers, Crowley lounged over the back of Aziraphale’s armchair.

“We’re immortal, kids,” Crowley said. “We could live for another six thousand years or more. It’s hardly any time at all for us. What’s a few more days when we have eternity to look forward to?”

“A few more days?!” Aziraphale spluttered. “We never discussed this!”

“Figure of speech, angel,” Crowley leaned down and kissed Aziraphale’s cheek. “Although you did say…”

“So I suppose you have the paperwork all ready to go, just head on down and get it signed and we’re married?”

“Well, not exactly.”

“Because I do!” Aziraphale burst out. “I got them before we went to the wedding and I was just waiting for the right moment to finalize the plans and you just casually throw out _a few more days_?!”

“We can go now,” Adam suggested. “I’m sure Anathema and Newt would come and be witnesses. You could probably call up Tracy and Shadwell too.”

There was silence. Only the sound of the crackling fire which echoed in the cottage. The Them stared at Aziraphale and Crowley, waiting for one of them to break the silence. Crowley hardly noticed them, eyes focused on Aziraphale.

“You’ve been waiting?” Crowley said. “For what?”

“It all seems so foolish now,” Aziraphale wrung his hands and couldn’t hold Crowley’s gaze. “We were rather ineffable, weren’t we? No need to wait when we could just get it done now. And… it would be nice to call you husband.”

Crowley was standing before he could think about it. He pulled Aziraphale up with him, cradling his face and hardly daring to breathe at what he was about to propose. He didn’t spare a thought for Adam and his friends, for anything else except to be married to his angel.

“Let’s do it,” Crowley said, giddily. “Let’s get married, angel.”

Aziraphale kissed them. The Them cheered.

It was a cold day in London, dark and gray. The air hurt Crowley’s lungs so much he stopped breathing. But having Aziraphale’s hand in his was all the warmth he needed. Anathema and Newt were waiting at the courthouse with Tracy and Shadwell.

“You can’t get married in that!” Tracy protested as they stepped in. “Can’t you… can’t you do something? Make yourself more presentable? It's not much, but it's still your wedding day!”

Crowley snapped his fingers and they were dressed in matching suits. Aziraphale in a smart black suit that matched Crowley’s white. Something giddy burst through Crowley’s chest. Six thousand years of waiting, of being in love and never knowing if that love was returned, and here he was, getting married.

It was a small ceremony in the end. Crowley didn’t have the words to say what this moment meant to him, standing with Aziraphale, hand in hand. Tracy was wiping tears from her face. When the time came for them to share their vows, Aziraphale didn’t have anything to say either. Nothing but, “I love you.”

Crowley reached in his pocket and pulled out a small box. To his surprise, Aziraphale also had a small box in hand. Inside the boxes were matching rings. It was a sign of how long they’d known each other that the rings were nearly identical. Both a simple, white-gold band, but the ring on Crowley’s finger had small wings etched along the side while Aziraphale’s had a snake engraved along the edge.

Then they signed the certificate and it was done.

They were married.


	8. Wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Broken Wings/Healing Wings

Aziraphale stumbled into the shop. He hadn’t meant for this to happen. He and Crowley were gliding over the ocean together when a sudden storm hit. Over the years they had grown good at flying together. Black and white feathers flashing, twirling together in the sky, glamor hiding them from the prying eyes of humans. It had been so long since Aziraphale had a flying partner and Crowley was, by far, the best.

He had been so distracted by Crowley’s hand in his, spinning over the dark expanse of ocean, he didn’t see the storm roll in until they were caught in the middle it. The thunderstorm was immense, lighting flashing across the sky and thick pellets of rain soaking them to the bone. The wind buffeted them across the sky, causing them to tumble in the air.

The cliff face hit them hard and Crowley had taken the brunt of the hit, Aziraphale landing on top of him. He heard the crunch of broken wings and panicked.

Instead of grabbing Crowley and miracling them to the cottage, he took them to the bookshop. Stumbling into the shop, Aziraphale laid Crowley out on the couch. His dark wings were spread out, one of them bent at an awkward angle. When Aziraphale touched it, Crowley groaned and flinched away.

“It hurtsss,” Crowley hissed.

“You crashed into a cliff,” Aziraphale said. “And I landed on you. Of course it hurts!”

Aziraphale touched where the wing was bent awkwardly and Crowley flinched back, his golden eyes glowering.

“Don’t touch it!”

“I have to or else it’s never going to get better!”

“Just leave it!”

“No!”

Aziraphale glared and Crowley glared right back.

“I can’t just use a miracle for this, love,” Aziraphale said. “I have to set your wing and bind it or else you won’t have one anymore. Trust me, Crowley.”

“I do trust you,” Crowley said. “Can you… can I see your wings? Please?”

Aziraphale was so caught up with the shock of Crowley’s injury, he didn’t realize he had hidden his wings away. Bracing himself for what was going to be a long and painful night, Aziraphale brought out his wings. Crowley relaxed at the sight and allowed Aziraphale to poke and prod at his wings.

Encased in white feathers, Aziraphale stretched out the bent wing. He straightened out the feathers before shifting the bone and setting it into place. Crowley took in a sharp breath, jerking slightly away from Aziraphale and the angel winced in sympathy. Aziraphale miracled some bandages and wrapped it around the wing to keep it in place.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Aziraphale muttered as he worked.

“Done what?”

“I know you shifted in the wind, spun us around so you hit the ground first. You didn’t have to do it.”

With the wing mended, Crowley sat up. Aziraphale’s wings were still surrounding them, keeping them safe and protected. Crowley’s broken wing was curled awkwardly around his shoulder and his other wing was spread out, black feathers mingling with the white.

“And let you break these?” Crowley ran his fingers through Aziraphale’s wings, fingers sliding between the feathers easily. “You’re an angel. Your wings are the most important part of you, my dear. I wouldn’t want to take that away from you.”

Aziraphale smiled. “You’re too kind, my dear.”

“I’ve already taken so much… if I took your wings…”

“Now dear,” Aziraphale leaned forward and took Crowley’s face in his hands. “I thought we were over that. I chose you and everything that goes with it. We’re married now, love, which means we chose each other. Never, ever, my darling, think you took anything from me when I have willingly given it all to you.”

Crowley leaned forward and kissed Aziraphale, soft and quick. “Oh, my angel. How lucky I am to have you.”


	9. Found Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Crowley and Aziraphale take Adam and the Them to the zoo.
> 
> They definitely visit the zoo with the Them, but that isn't really what happens in this chapter. Enjoy!

“This is stupid!” Brian said when Aziraphale suggested it.

“You’re stupid, stupid,” Pepper said. “Besides, if Adam wants to spend more time with his new godfathers then we should go with him.”

“No one goes to the zoo anymore,” Brian rolled his eyes. “Except for babies.”

“Actually, the zoo is a great place to visit,” Wensley said. “There’s a lot to learn from the zoo and it’ll be a fun outing for all of us.”

“We’ll even throw in lunch,” Crowley said. “On us.”

With the promise of free food, The Them agreed to join Adam and Crowley and Aziraphale on a day trip the zoo. It was a warm spring day and the zoo was filled with young families and children. Despite Brian’s protest, he was just as eager as the others to make a plan to visit as many exhibits as possible.

Following the Them, Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand in his. Anyone who stared at them too long with judgmental eyes found themselves tripping or stumbling or dropping things they were holding.

Crowley had never been to the zoo before. He and Aziraphale met in places that celebrated humanity, concerts and art museums and historical landmarks. Visiting a zoo felt like going back to creation. It reminded Crowley of standing by the Almighty, crafting stars while She made the animals with the other angels.

He thought coming to the zoo would remind him of his fall, but to his surprise, seeing all the animals only reminded Crowley of the Garden and of meeting Aziraphale. And, well, there was no memory better than that.

“I remember that one,” Aziraphale smiled as they came to the giraffe enclosure. “The purple tongue was a bit outlandish.”

“I like it,” Pepper said. “They’re my favorite.”

The rest of the zoo visit went much the same. At every enclosure, the Them asked Crowley and Aziraphale how the animals were created. Aziraphale beamed at the aviary, talking about each bird with fondness and describing how he helped create some of them. They almost got kicked out of the reptile house when Crowley started arguing with one of the cobras.

“What did he say?” Wensley asked as they walked to the food court.

“Nothing,” Crowley muttered.

Thankfully, the smell of food distracted the Them from asking too many other questions. Aziraphale ushered them in line while Crowley went and found a table. He was still fuming about the damn cobra and the glare on his face kept everyone else far away from him.

Being the snake of Eden left a mark on Crowley and the snakes of Earth recognized him. They knew it was he who brought them to existence. Snakes didn’t have a deity but, if they did, Crowley was probably the closest thing to a god they knew. But, being snakes, they didn’t hold a lot of respect for Crowley. He couldn’t begin to number how many times a snake in the grass laughed at him, told him to become a snake and truly be their king and mocked him for choosing to be in such a weak and frail human body.

Crowley was used to it, but the cobra went too far.

At least Aziraphale couldn’t understand what the snake was saying. If he had… Crowley’s anger would seem like nothing compared to the angel’s.

“ ‘Save him for later’,” Crowley scoffed. “Dumb snake.”

“Talking to yourself, dear?” Aziraphale sat down next to him. “Or are you still thinking about that cobra? I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it.”

“You didn’t hear what he said.”

Lunch went by quickly and Brian only spilled his food twice. Aziraphale absentmindedly wiped his cheek to the immediate teasing of Adam, Pepper and Wensley. Slower now that they were filled with food, the Them led Crowley and Aziraphale through the rest of the zoo.

Aziraphale didn’t ask about the snake for the rest of the visit but Crowley knew it was only a matter of time before the angel cornered him and demanded answers. The afternoon went on, warm and muggy, and the teenagers showed no sign of wanting to leave.

Crowley and Aziraphale sat down on a bench, letting Adam lead his friends through the aquarium. Crowley thought, for certain, that Aziraphale was going to ask about the snake, pressure him until he gave in. He braced himself for Aziraphale’s puppy eyes, for the pleading tone of his voice, and waited.

Instead of hearing Aziraphale grill him about the incident in the reptile house, he heard Aziraphale gasp loudly, his hand gripping Crowley’s arm tight enough to leave bruises.

“Crowley! It’s Warlock!”

Crowley snapped his head up so fast he was lucky his bones didn’t break. Standing there, looking unimpressed and uncomfortable, was Warlock Dowling. The past six years had been good to him. His hair was long and tied up in a high ponytail.

It took a moment for Crowley to associate this vison of Warlock with who he’d been writing to for the past few years. In his mind, he’d been imagining Warlock as the grumpy eleven-year-old he last saw. But the more Crowley looked, the more he approved of Warlock’s look, from the dark sunglasses and tall boots and the way he leaned against a tree.

He suddenly remembered the last letter Warlock had written him.

_I don’t feel right in my skin anymore, Nanny. It doesn’t feel like me when I look in the mirror and I don’t know why. I borrowed some makeup from my friend Janelle and she showed me how to put it on and it felt so much better. Nanny… is something wrong with me? My father would kill me if he found out, but I have to know._

Crowley was up and walking towards Warlock before he could stop himself.

“Warlock!” he called as he came closer.

Warlock flinched. As Crowley came closer, he noticed faint, yellow bruises around Warlock’s arms. Warlock looked up at Crowley, still hunched in on himself. As soon as Warlock’s gaze landed on Crowley’s face, he gasped.

“Nanny?” he breathed.

“Hello, dear,” Crowley smiled.

Warlock flung his arms around Crowley and buried his face in Crowley’s neck. His thin shoulders shook with sobs and Crowley rubbed his back, shushing him like he did when Warlock was a child. Crowley sensed more than felt Aziraphale come up beside him.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” Warlock pulled back and quickly wiped his cheeks. “I’m… I’m so confused, Nanny.”

“It’s okay,” Crowley said. “Where are your parents?”

Warlock snorted. “Dunno. Since they bought me a car I haven’t been home much.”

“Then you can come with us!” Aziraphale said.

Warlock turned to Aziraphale for the first time and his mouth fell open. “Brother Francis?”

“Oh, surprised you recognize me without the face,” Aziraphale grinned. “It was a bit overdone, if I’m being completely honest. I may have let it get away from me. But are you coming with us? We just need to collect Adam and the others and I’m sure we can have a lovely dinner together. I’ve always said you need more friends your age and – ”

Crowley rolled his eyes and put a hand on Aziraphale’s mouth. “You’re going to overwhelm him, angel.”

“No! I want to go,” Warlock said. “Please.”

Aziraphale beamed. “Of course, dear.”

Much to Aziraphale’s eternal gloating, Adam and the Them were happy to meet Warlock and didn’t protest to him joining them for the rest of their outing. Crowley had worried that Adam’s jealousy of Warlock would flare up, but Adam was better than Crowley gave him credit for. At seeing this awkward boy, Adam only offered friendship.

As dinner time approached, Adam took his friends back home to Tadfield with very stern reminders from Aziraphale and Crowley to visit more often. Aziraphale took Warlock’s arm and led him to the Bentley.

The drive back home was quiet. Warlock wrapped his arms around himself as Crowley sped like a demon through the streets. Even Aziraphale had nothing to say and the Bentley didn’t play any music.

The sun was beginning to set as Crowley pulled over in front of the cottage. The bright orange sun touched the ocean and reflected across the waves. Warlock let out a soft breath at the sight. It was quite magical, Crowley had to admit.

Aziraphale ushered them both inside and bustled about making hot cocoa. Crowley led Warlock to the living room and gestured for him to sit down on the soft couch. Now inside, Warlock took off his sunglasses and Crowley saw deep bags underneath his red rimmed eyes.

“Now, dear,” Crowley said. “You tell your Nanny what’s wrong and I’ll make it better.”

Warlock nodded and slowly he began to talk. He told Crowley about the dysphoria growing steadily inside of him. How he felt wrong in his skin and he tried so hard to change the way he looked – to make the outside match the inside. He talked about how inspired he was by his Nanny, that she never allowed anyone to tell her what to do. He talked about the first time he learned what drag was and how his father screamed and yelled.

“I thought he was going to kill me that night,” Warlock whispered into his hot cocoa. “Told him I didn’t want to be a boy anymore, that I didn’t _feel_ like a boy and…”

The bruises on Warlock’s arm suddenly made sense and Crowley felt a rush of anger rise up in him. No one hurt children while he was around and certainly no one, ambassador or not, hurt their own children. Not if Crowley had something to say about it.

“And you’re not a girl anymore anyway,” Warlock said to Crowley. “So if you can change then… I can too, right? I’m not… I’m not broken, am I?”

“No, dear, of course you’re not broken,” Aziraphale said in a manner-of-fact voice. “You’re simply in the wrong body. Have you changed your name yet?”

“My name?”

“Surely you’ll want a new name once you get your body sorted out,” Aziraphale said. “Crowley’s changed his name plenty of times, depending on the circumstances.”

“I never thought of that…” Warlock said. “Always thought… well… thought it’d never happen.”

“Warlock, I have watched over you for six years,” Crowley said. “So has Aziraphale. We’ve been looking out for you. Even after we left, I kept an ear out for you. You never need to feel like you can’t be who you are. If you’re a girl, then we’ll help you get there.”

For the first time all day, Warlock smiled, wide and genuine. “Really?”

“Really, dear,” Crowley said. “Now, hop upstairs. The spare bedroom is on the left. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

Warlock gave Crowley another hug and Crowley pretended not to notice the tears. As Warlock went up the stairs, Aziraphale cleaned up the table with a wave of his hand, empty cocoa mugs appearing in the sink.

“She will need a new name,” Aziraphale said. “Honestly, _Warlock_. I can’t believe you let the nuns get away with such an atrocious name.”

“The nuns suggested it. Not my fault her damn mother went with it. Americans…”

Aziraphale hummed. “I’ll have a list for her in the morning.” The angel sat down on the sofa, absentmindedly running his fingers over the ring on his pinky. “Crowley… are you sure this is the right thing?”

“The right thing?” Crowley repeated.

“I mean, taking her in like this,” Aziraphale said. “Surely her parents will start to worry and she’s only seventeen. She would be considered a runaway and… do we really want to get all wrapped up in this?”

“Angel, we’ve been wrapped up in Warlock’s life the moment we decided to be her godfathers. This isn’t about what’s right or wrong, this is about taking care of the child we helped raise.”

“It’s just… between Warlock and Adam and the others… we’ve got quite a little home here. It’s almost like a family.”

“Yes, well, I suppose it is.”

Upstairs, Warlock Dowling went to sleep unafraid for the first time. The next morning, she woke up to a large breakfast and a list of names from Aziraphale. Crowley offered to take her shopping and, to their surprise, ran into Adam, who was extremely helpful during the whole venture. Crowley had an inkling that Pepper had something to do with it. Still, it was wonderful to see the two of them getting along.

Maybe taking in Warlock was the right thing, taking her from a stagnant, negligent home could only be the right thing. Then again, maybe taking her in was the wrong thing, stealing her from her parents, encouraging reckless youth. But, as Crowley watched Adam and Warlock argue over where to eat lunch, he knew it was both of those things and neither of them at the same time. It was simply a choice – just one more decision in the millions of Crowley’s life. A decision that was decidedly medium, good in one light and bad in another.

Crowley thought of his wings, of flying for the first time since the fall. He thought of Aziraphale’s reptilian eyes, the only sign of his slight descent from grace. He thought of black and white and shades of gray; of making choices without knowing the outcome; of what was really God’s ineffable plan anyway.

In the end, however, it didn’t matter. Wherever Crowley stood was fine by him. As long as Aziraphale was by his side, Crowley didn’t much care where that was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know quite a few trans people and I tried to convey the dysphoria as best as I could. I hope this doesn't come across as disrespectful or insensitive.


	10. By Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Crowley is hurt by holy water.

The house was quiet. It had been so long since Aziraphale had a quiet home, he didn’t quite know what to make of it. He had lived in a quiet bookshop for decades, content with the silence, but now it was stifling.

It had been ten years since he and Crowley essentially adopted Warlock, now Ariel. Aziraphale had grown used to the sound of Adam and the others running through the cottage, playing video games and watching movies late into the night, throwing rocks out into the ocean and having little beach wood fires on the shore.

They had teased Adam when he brought his first girlfriend home and Aziraphale comforted Ariel when her boyfriend dumped her. When they went off to university, they came back to visit every holiday. Newt and Anathema sent word each time they had a baby, Shadwell and Tracy moved to the same village and visited every Sunday.

And the years still passed. Now the house was quiet. Now the refrigerator held wedding invitations and pictures from the Them, always including Ariel, well into their young adult years. Now Tracy and Shadwell were both too weak to visit them as frequently. Now Aziraphale understood the term ‘empty nest’ and the lonesome feeling it gave.

The house was quiet. Only the sound of the ocean, the creaking of the house settling down, and the occasional clatter of Crowley in another room. Aziraphale settled in with his book, his ears unconsciously listening out for someone to visit.

Then Crowley _screamed_. He screamed so loudly and so suddenly that Aziraphale jumped, his book flying out of his hands and crashing against the wall. He didn’t even run, just used a quick miracle to appear right at Crowley’s side.

Aziraphale braced himself for the worst, for Gabriel or Beelzebub seizing Crowley and taking him away. He raised his hands up in a fighting stance, wishing desperately he had his flaming sword.

To his relief, Crowley wasn’t being kidnapped by heaven or hell, he wasn’t dying a painful death on the floor of their house, in fact, Crowley was just standing in the bedroom. His right arm was dripping wet, the skin on his hand shiny red and blistering. He was crying and cradling his injured hand close to his chest.

“Holy water,” Crowley whimpered. “F-fucking holy water, angel.”

Aziraphale’s heart stopped. It couldn’t be holy water… that would destroy Crowley, completely and utterly send him off this plane of existence. Aziraphale wanted to ask how holy water ended up in their home, but instead what he said was:

“Why are you messing with it anyway?”

“It’s not like I knew!” Crowley seethed.

“Why aren’t you dead?”

“Oh, thanks, angel!”

“No, no, that’s not what I – ” Aziraphale huffed. “I just meant that holy water should have destroyed you. If that’s really holy water then…”

“Why am I still here?” Crowley finished.

“Maybe it’s not holy water,” Aziraphale said with forced cheer. He walked across the room and took Crowley’s hand, miracling a towel to dry it off with. As soon as he felt the water on his skin, Aziraphale knew otherwise. He could feel the blessing of it on his skin. Something must’ve shown on his face for Crowley snorted.

“Yeah right,” Crowley said. “It’s the holiest.”

“I don’t understand then,” Aziraphale said as he toweled off Crowley’s hand and up his arm, sopping up the water from his sleeve. “It’s not as though you’re not a demon.”

But as soon as he said those words, Aziraphale knew the truth. He and Crowley left their sides long ago. It had been many years since Crowley rediscovered flight and Aziraphale’s eyes turned. How could this have slipped from their minds?

“But I’m not a demon,” Crowley said slowly. “Not 100% at least.”

Aziraphale wrapped up Crowley’s hand in bandages, pressing a soft kiss to his hand. “Regardless, my love, please be careful of the water you interact with.”

“Of course, angel.”


	11. By Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Aziraphale is hurt by hellfire.

Not more than a week after the holy water incident, Crowley woke up in the wee hours of the morning to Aziraphale screeching. The first thing he noticed was the smell of smoke. Crowley’s first thought was that the house was on fire, but even as he thought that, he knew it wasn’t true. If the house was on fire, Aziraphale would have used a miracle to get rid of it.

Unless it wasn’t a normal fire.

Then Crowley panicked. He rolled out of the bed and, suddenly wide awake but eyes still gummy with sleep, he stumbled down the stairs, crashing into the wall almost a dozen times on his way down. He followed the smell of the fire and the sound of Aziraphale’s screams and ended up in the kitchen.

For a moment, Crowley didn’t know what he was looking at. He saw Aziraphale, standing in the kitchen which was, against all odds, not on fire. There was, however, a fire in the sink, an eternally burning fire, hotter than what humans could make and impossible to destroy. Once, long ago, the Greeks managed to find it and tried to replicate it, but their Greek fire couldn’t compare with the real thing.

Hellfire. Burning in their kitchen and Aziraphale standing over it, cradling his arm to his chest, not unlike Crowley did when he touched the holy water. The angel had tears down his cheeks and the sleeve of his jacket was still smoldering and, while he wasn’t screaming in pain anymore, he was whimpering so pathetically that Crowley moved before thinking.

He grabbed Aziraphale’s burned hand and blew on it gently, extinguishing the last of the flames and cradling the injured hand close to him.

“What happened, angel?” Crowley asked softly. He couldn’t heal injuries from hellfire with miracles but he would do everything he could to make Aziraphale more comfortable.

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale said. “I was going to make some breakfast and… and…”

Aziraphale struggled to find the words and Crowley pulled him in for a hug. He patted Aziraphale’s back and hummed soothingly until Aziraphale stopped crying. Aziraphale’s hands were hot on Crowley’s bare back and Crowley held him close. They stood together like that, rocking back and forth in the kitchen as the sun slowly rose. The pale morning sunlight warmed the kitchen and Crowley’s last shred of panic finally fled.

“I don’t know what happened,” Aziraphale said. “I saw something outside and then… there was fire. I didn’t think it was dangerous. I never thought…” Aziraphale pulled back enough to look Crowley in the eyes. “I thought the demons were supposed to leave us alone.”

“Could say the same about the holy water,” Crowley said. “Do you think…?”

“Honestly, if this was a weak attempt at an assassination, I doubt the higher ups approved it,” Aziraphale said. “Beelzebub and the others were petrified at what I did to them.”

“So was Gabriel.”

“Then it’s some rogue agent most likely.”

“That doesn’t fill me with confidence.”

The hellfire still crackled in the sink and Crowley snapped his fingers, willing the fire back to hell where it belonged.

“Lucky for us it didn’t work,” Aziraphale said brightly, patting Crowley on the hip with his good hand.

“Angel, that’s not the problem,” Crowley said. “They know where we live now. That’s a problem. There’s nothing stopping them from finding us. If Gabriel and Beelzebub come looking for us because of what happened, we can’t talk our way out of it. At the trials, we were _immune_ and if they find out we’re not then it’s one short guess to figure out we tricked them.”

“Then let’s go somewhere for a bit,” Aziraphale suggested. “If we’re not here then they can’t find us.”

“Where will we go?”

Aziraphale hummed but his eyes gleamed with an idea.

“How do you feel about castles?”


	12. Empty Castles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Hogwarts AU
> 
> The most mini, micro, insignificant chapter update ever.
> 
> I definitely made this challenge more difficult trying to connect all the prompts into one long fic, but this prompt was THE WORST for me. The next several chapters hopefully make up for it - I'm excited to share them :)
> 
> Aziraphale is Ravenclaw and Crowley is Hufflepuff :)

It was a curious thing, the power of imagination. Legends and myths became real and tangible when humanity willed it so. By their simple belief, their devotion and veneration, fiction could become reality. Of course, most people didn’t realize it. They simply moved on with their lives, unaware of the subtle changes in reality based on their sheer imagination.

It was almost like a miracle.

The castle was warm and filled with shadows of people. Humanity had created the idea and the magic of the castle was real, but it was impossible to fill it up with specific people, no matter how great the imagination. At first it had bothered Aziraphale, to walk these magic hallways, decked out in his blue and silver, and not see the face of anyone else. They were dressed in their house colors in a variety of shapes and sizes and colors, but with no defining features.

“It’s like being in a movie with only extras,” Crowley said one day. “A castle filled with ghosts and shadows. Hey, at least it’s easy for us to keep track of each other.”

“And hopefully whoever is chasing us will lose our trail,” Aziraphale agreed. “Angels and demons would never think to look for us here.”

Crowley grinned. “And we technically have the whole castle to ourselves…”

“But it’s more fun to go along with it,” Aziraphale insisted.

“Pretend to go to classes and learn things that don’t matter? This isn’t really real, angel. Just a backdrop movie for humanity to reminisce about.”

“But it’s fun!” Aziraphale grinned. He pulled out a thin wand and tapped Crowley on the head with it. “We don’t know how long we’ll be here, we might as well enjoy it!”

Crowley snatched his hand out, grabbing Aziraphale by his tie and almost yanking him across the table. The shadow people didn’t notice.

“I can think of a dozen ways to enjoy our time here, none of them involve pretending to be Hogwarts students,” Crowley growled.

This close, Aziraphale could see the matching shade of Crowley’s eyes to the yellow on his robes. He unconsciously licked his lips.

“Well,” he said, dragging his eyes up Crowley’s body. “No one’s saying we can’t do both.”

Crowley’s grin widened.


	13. Sariel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Angel!Crowley and Demon!Aziraphale.
> 
> This chapter does contain an angel OC who is very near and dear to my heart. She'll pop up again later throughout the story but she's still considered a minor character for the purpose of this fic.
> 
> So, like, eight years ago I started writing this stupid, megafic for nanowrimo. I wanted to write this sorta, epic, cross-fandom fic and ended up looking for an angel oc to carry the fic. I looked up archangels and the name Sariel came up as one of the seven archangels, the Angel of Guidance (I dunno where I found that because every time I look up the name again, Sariel is an angel of death and considered a minor archangel so who knows *shrugs*). Throughout writing this massive fic (it ended up being over 400 pages) I morphed the term 'guidance' to mean 'destiny'.
> 
> For the purpose of this fic, based on my information several years ago and the biggest, dumbest fic I've ever written that was heavily based in the Supernatural universe, Sariel is the angel of guidance. She guides people to their destiny, creates threads of fate, and everything she does affects the future.
> 
> She's a little OP, a little "too special" but after writing her story for almost eight years, I like her.

There was an angel at their doorstep. There was an angel at their doorstep and Crowley had a heavy book in his hand, poised to attack. There hadn’t been another holy water or hellfire incident since their extended stay in Hogwarts but Crowley didn’t make it this long by not being terribly paranoid. Though he doubted whoever was responsible for those incidents would come knocking on the door.

Crowley didn’t recognize the angel. She wasn’t one of the angels present for ‘Aziraphale’s’ trial and, if it weren’t for the angelic ring on her finger and the general glow of righteousness around her, Crowley could have mistaken her for a human.

Maybe if he pretended he wasn’t home she would leave them alone. Crowley had no interest in talking with angels anymore. He crouched behind the window, peeking out at the angel standing on the porch.

She had a round face and large, tawny colored eyes. Her hair was brown and curly and hung down to her waist. She huffed and knocked on the door again. Well, whoever she was, she at least had some manners.

Crowley sank below the window and hoped she would just leave them alone. If he had to stay in the house all day then he would. They really should move. Seven months weren’t long enough to shake off an occult/ethereal tail.

His chest ached and, with a jolt, Crowley realized he had stopped breathing several minutes ago and his corporeal body was protesting. Crowley was shaking, not breathing, and deep in the throes of a panic attack. The only thing that kept him from losing complete control was knowing that Aziraphale wasn’t here.

If the angel decided to break in and kill them both, at least Aziraphale was back in Soho, safe in his bookshop and far away from this danger. Crowley clung to that thought, that knowledge, and he took a deep breath. If he was going to die by the hands of this angel, at least his husband would stay alive.

No sooner than the thought crossed his mind did Crowley hear the sound of feet crunching on gravel and feel Aziraphale’s aura brush against his own.

“Hello there!” Aziraphale greeted cheerfully. “Sorry, I was out, can I help you?”

Against his better judgement, Crowley peered out the window. Aziraphale looked friendly enough, smiling as he walked up to their porch. The angel turned around and Aziraphale’s smile dropped from his face.

“Leave,” he said. “You are not welcome here.”

“That’s not very nice,” the angel said. “You don’t know what I’m here for.”

“I don’t care. You are supposed to leave us alone. So leave.”

“Don’t you know who I am, Aziraphale? Don’t you _remember_?”

Something was wrong. Crowley felt something crackle in the air as the angel tossed her hair back. Aziraphale narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the angel. The angel grinned and Aziraphale gasped. Crowley wanted to jump out the window and stand in front of Aziraphale, block him from this strange angel.

“Sariel,” Aziraphale whispered. “I thought you were a legend.”

“Flattering,” she grinned. “I have something to show you and Crowley.”

At hearing his name from her lips, Crowley moved into action. He flung open the window and jumped through it, rolling on the ground and landing, in a crouch, between Aziraphale and her. Without the wall between him and her, Crowley could _feel_ the power of this angel. She radiated power, practically glowing like a powerplant, and Crowley almost fell over from the sheer force of it. He pushed through it though, anything to keep Aziraphale safe.

“We don’t want anything to do with you!” Crowley snarled. “Leave us _alone_!”

Crowley was no slouch with his power. He could do things other angels and demons only dream of and he put every ounce of it in that final word. Aziraphale, who had lived with Crowley for decades and was used to his power, even flinched at Crowley’s show of force.

The angel, Sariel, didn’t even blink.

Despite himself, Crowley was curious. Half standing in front of Aziraphale, he lowered his defenses just a little. The name, Sariel, resounded through his head. The way Aziraphale reacted to the name, Crowley knew she must be important. Aziraphale called her a legend. She didn’t act like any sort of rogue agent Crowley was expecting.

“Who are you?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale’s hand found his and linked their fingers together. Crowley clutched Aziraphale like a lifeline. Sariel… Sariel… Crowley stared at the angel, her sardonic smirk and hair that crackled with energy. Something about her felt… familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

“Sariel,” she gave a mocking nod of her head. “Archangel of Guidance.”

“I’ve never heard of an Archangel Sariel before,” Crowley sneered.

“Sort of a top secret angel,” Sariel said. “Aziraphale said it right. I’m a legend.”

“Humble too,” Crowley rolled his eyes.

“I’ve been sent to show you something,” Sariel said.

Crowley tensed up. “Sent by who?”

“Whom,” Aziraphale muttered and Crowley elbowed him. This wasn’t the time.

“God,” Sariel said simply. “While the rest of the angels were sent down to guard and watch over Earth and Her creations, I was created to uphold the ineffable plan.”

“The ineffable plan?” Aziraphale repeated. He pushed Crowley aside and stared up at Sariel with something like awe. “You know the plan?”

“No one knows the plan,” Sariel said. “I just do what She tells me to ensure the plan is fulfilled. Which is why I’m here. God has something to show you and I’m the one to do it. Not to mention while you’re both off elsewhere, I can find whoever tried to kill you and take care of that little problem too.”

“You know who sent the holy water and hellfire?” Crowley asked. “And they’re still out there? You could have led them right to us!”

“They already know you’re here,” Sariel said. “You didn’t think your little trip to Hogwarts was enough to fool them, did you? But no matter, I’ll take care of it.”

Sariel lifted her hand, fingers poised to snap.

“No!”

Crowley and Aziraphale both lunged for Sariel but, before they could reach her, she snapped.

The sound of her snap echoed across the lawn of the cottage. Crowley’s body slowed down, the entire world shifting and fading away. The sight of his home, their home, melted away like a watercolor painting. He tried to reach for Aziraphale, but the angel was gone out of his reach.

Then there was pain. Crowley’s vision was a blur of colors and he could only hear the sound of wind rushing through his ears. His demon body felt a huge rush of power, something electric that coursed through his body, jolting along the nerve endings. It felt like his body was being stretched like taffy and snapped back together in all the wrong ways.

The only thing Crowley knew was that he was going to find Sariel and make her pay for whatever she did to them.

As suddenly as it happened, it ended. Crowley was lying on his back in a shop. It was a dark and humid room, filled with lush, green plants. There were ridiculous prices labeled on the plants and no customer in sight. Something in Crowley felt different as he slowly sat up.

The shop’s front wall was made entirely of windows with dozens of plants displayed. It was dark outside and Crowley vaguely recognized the street corner. His vision was slightly fuzzy but he could make out the blurry outline of himself in the window. Crowley blinked and rubbed his eyes and his reflection became clear.

If Crowley didn’t know any better, he would have thought someone else was on the other side of the window. Crowley was wearing a deep plum button down and white jeans. His eyes were brown and there was a golden wing ring on his pinky.

“What the hell,” he muttered.

He ran outside the shop and, with a jolt, recognized this street corner as the one Aziraphale had set up his bookshop. There was no A.Z. Fell and Co. Bookshop though. Crowley was looking up at a plant shop, dark and somewhat uninviting, with the sign A.J. Crow’s Greenhouse.

Fully panicking now, Crowley ran back into the shop (his shop?) and picked up his phone, calling Aziraphale by instinct.

“I suppose you’ve figured it out,” Aziraphale answered on the first ring.

“What did she do?!” Crowley shouted. “Where the hell are we?”

“It might be best if we talk in person,” Aziraphale said softly. “I assume you’re at the shop?”

“Yeah,” Crowley nodded. “How soon will you be here?”

Crowley’s phone shook in his hand and, in a shower of sparks, Aziraphale was standing in front of him, shaking off the pixels from phone travel.

Despite the existential crisis Crowley was feeling, he couldn’t help but stare at Aziraphale. He was wearing a midnight blue suit with a black overcoat and his eyes were completely white. Crowley swallowed.

“You look… amazing,” Crowley said.

“I could say the same for you,” Aziraphale’s eyes looked up and down Crowley. “Although this may not be the time to appreciate the costume changes. I fear Sariel did more than that.”

“What do you mean?”

Aziraphale snapped his fingers and a bottle of wine appeared in his hand. He took a healthy drink from the bottle and held it out for Crowley. Crowley took a drink and set it down on a nearby table. He had a feeling he needed to be sober for this conversation.

“She switched us,” Aziraphale said simply. “Remember when we switched bodies before our so-called trials? Well, I think she changed us entirely. This is me as a demon and that is you as an angel. I’m just trying to figure out why…”

“Does it matter?” Crowley pulled in Aziraphale close. “We’re on our own side, somewhere in the middle of heaven and hell. What does it matter if we’re switched?”

“W-well, I suppose it doesn’t,” Aziraphale huffed. “But I rather liked my bookshop. I can’t help but feel like there’s something we’re supposed to learn from this…”

Crowley scoffed. “Doubtful. She just wanted us out of the way so she could rain vengeance on whoever was trying to kill us.”

“Don’t be like that!” Aziraphale patted his hands on Crowley’s chest. “She’s doing us a favor, Crowley. No one in heaven would dare fight against her. We should be appreciative of her for doing this for us.”

“I’d be much happier if she – if she – ” Crowley trailed off.

The most curious sensation overcame him; he suddenly felt more forgiving, more understanding. The weight of all his bitterness lifted from his shoulders, the guilt and the uncertainty left him. It reminded him of before the fall. For the first time, Crowley felt the love of the Almighty through him. He felt righteous and forgiving and loved. Unconsciously, he staggered back from Aziraphale, his entire body twisting with these new feelings.

“Oh,” he let out a breath.

Suddenly, everything that Sariel had done and said _made sense_. Of course she had to send them to this alternate reality, to keep them safe while she hunted down the rogue agents. But if she had to send them to another plane of existence, might as well have them learn something at the same time.

Crowley looked at Aziraphale, eager to share his newfound knowledge, only to see him crying, face screwed up in pain and frustration. It was a strange look on Aziraphale, who had always looked so aloof and confident. Even in his most questioning of moments, Crowley had never seen Aziraphale look bitter.

“Aziraphale?” he said softly.

“I hate this,” Aziraphale muttered. He wiped his eyes and clenched his fists. “I feel… I feel so different. I feel angry and betrayed and I want to _hurt_ someone. Is this… is this what you feel like?”

“You get used to it,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale’s face twisted and he gave Crowley a dark look. He cracked his neck and his pure white eyes glimmered in the dark.

“Ooh, but it’s not so bad, is it?” Aziraphale grinned. “I don’t have repercussions, do I? I can go out and tempt people and it would be so easy!”

“No,” Crowley shook his head. He crossed the floor and locked the door to the shop. “We don’t know what’s going on here. I’m not about to let a rogue demon out on London. Especially you! When we go back, you’ll hate yourself.”

“I already do!” Aziraphale laughed for a moment then his face paled. “Oh, Crowley, is this… do you…” he trailed off and looked up at Crowley.

“Yeah,” Crowley sighed. “If you hate yourself then it becomes that much easier to tempt others. Misery loves company.”

Aziraphale was across the floor before Crowley could react. Warm arms wrapped around him and pulled him into a tight hug.

“We’ll stay here,” Aziraphale said. “Inside the shop until Sariel comes back for us. And we’re going to _talk_ , dearest. I had no idea… no idea this is what you struggled with. I mean, I suspected when you asked for the holy water but I never knew.”

“It’s okay,” Crowley replied.

Crowley brought them to the back of the shop, bringing the wine bottle along too. Across a dark table they drank and drank and talked. All the secrets that Crowley kept hidden about being a demon came rushing forward and Aziraphale wasn’t satisfied until Crowley answered every single question.

There was no knowing how long they were kept in this pocket universe, talking honestly to one another. Crowley kept waiting for something to rear up and snap at Aziraphale for keeping things hidden or for Aziraphale to lecture him for hiding his depression, but none of that happened.

They were together. They were somewhere between heaven and hell and this was just one more way for them to understand each other.

Eventually they fell asleep, slumped over against the table, with empty wine bottles scattered around them, hands clasped tight even in sleep. They didn’t hear the tinkling of the shop bell or the whisper of shoes across the floor. They didn’t stir even as Sariel stood over them.

“They’re idiots,” she said out loud.

_They’re part of the plan, child._

“I know, I know,” Sariel rolled her eyes. She snapped her fingers and the room around them dissolved. “They’re still idiots.”

Inside a small cottage in the South Downs, Crowley and Aziraphale were sleeping in their bed. There was no sign that anything had changed since Sariel came knocking on their door. She stood out on the street, staring at the innocent house, and laughed a little.

 _Come home. There’s much to do_.

“In a minute,” Sariel said.

Soon, the bedroom light flipped on and Sariel could hear Aziraphale screaming. He was shouting at Crowley, demanding answers that he didn’t have. The bedroom window was flung open and there was Aziraphale, staring out over the street, eyes finding Sariel.

He was _livid_ and if he had his flaming sword, Aziraphale would be running down the street to threaten her for certain. But he had no sword, no weapon at all, and could do nothing but glare at her from the window. Sariel waved and disappeared. They were safe now.


	14. Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Dancing Beneath the Stars

Aziraphale looked up at the stars. He and Crowley were taking an extended vacation in Canada, only for a decade or so, until their faces were anonymous in London again. This was something they did every so often when humanity got suspicious of their immortality.

Most of the time they visited separate parts of the world. Aziraphale had spent quite a few years in Thailand and Crowley almost didn’t come back from his time in Australia. This was the first time the two of them left London together.

It was almost like a honeymoon.

Aziraphale sat wrapped up in a giant parka, sitting out on the porch of the little cabin they were renting out. It was freezing cold and Crowley was inside cooking… something. Nothing had exploded yet, so Aziraphale counted that as a win.

The stars in the wilderness of Canada were much brighter than in London. Aziraphale could understand Crowley’s love of space as he stared up at the numberless stars. It was vast and beautiful and simultaneously made Aziraphale feel insignificant and inspired.

The cabin door creaked open and Crowley sat down beside Aziraphale. If Aziraphale was cold then Crowley must be freezing, his snake form needed external heat to keep warm. He shivered and huddled close to Aziraphale.

“It’s beautiful,” Aziraphale whispered.

“Just wait,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale looked up at the sky and, suddenly, the sky was green. What looked like green ribbons were snaking across the sky, twisting and glowing like the sand underneath the ocean waves. The sky was full of the bright green lights dancing beneath the stars.

“The Aurora Borealis,” Aziraphale said softly.

“My idea,” Crowley bragged. “Come on.”

Before Aziraphale could ask what Crowley was doing, he was dragged up and out to the snowy ground in front of the cabin. Crowley put a hand on Aziraphale’s waist and led him in a slow waltz. It was clumsy, trying to dance in soft snow, but it was a long way from their first awkward dance, many decades ago in the bookshop.

It was nothing special, just the two of them spinning around, back and forth, holding each other underneath the stars and the northern lights.

“So romantic, my love,” Aziraphale cooed.

“It is our anniversary,” Crowley said. “How many years now?”

“Nearly thirty. Took us long enough to have a honeymoon.”

Aziraphale put both his hands around Crowley’s neck, pressing their foreheads together. It was surreal, standing in the snow with the only the stars and the Aurora Borealis for light. Aziraphale wanted to stay in this moment forever.

“I love you,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley blushed. His fingers tightened in Aziraphale’s parka and then he bent down, kissing Aziraphale hungrily. Aziraphale’s face was numb from the cold but Crowley’s mouth was warm on his. Aziraphale closed his eyes and tightened his fingers in Crowley’s hair. Above them the stars shone and the Borealis glittered.


	15. Medusa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Crowley and Aziraphale adopt a pet.

In his defense, Crowley hadn’t meant for the snake to follow him home. It was a wee little thing, barely fit into the palm of his hands. Crowley had been walking through the countryside, thinking about the past few decades since the Not So End of the World. Newt and Anathema were old and gray, divorced with several children and hordes of grandchildren. The Them had grown apart with little families of their own.

And through it all, Crowley and Aziraphale tried to keep in touch with them. It wasn’t too difficult, seeing as they hadn’t left their cottage since they moved in, almost forty years ago. Crowley would miss all of them. He missed everyone he ran into though. He missed the little group of rebellious knights who fought against King Arthur. He missed Shakespeare and that sweet old woman who force fed him in China. He missed riding with the samurai and drinking with the Tsar of Russia.

Ah, well, such was the price of immortality. Crowley had long since accepted that as his fate. Instead of looking back at what he lost, he focused on what was to come, on the new humans he would meet with Aziraphale.

The point was, however, as Crowley was walking with his maudlin thoughts, a little snake slithered up to him with big round eyes and a curious tilt to her head. Crowley had bent down to talk with her and he swore she smiled at him.

She was a little grass snake and, as Crowley reached out to her, curled around his wrist. If snakes could purr, Crowley swore she would be doing it. He stroked her head, told her she was beautiful, and dropped her on the ground and made his way home.

But the little grass snake followed him. For being so small, she was a determined little bugger. Crowley could admire that. But there was not enough room in the cottage for two snakes and she would have to go back home. She was only a child, after all.

Crowley opened the door and the snake slipped in beneath his feet.

“Oi!” he scolded but she ignored him and slithered into the kitchen.

“Crowley dear, is that you?” Aziraphale’s voice floated from said kitchen and Crowley hear him gasp. “Oh! You’re not Crowley!”

Oh no. Crowley could stand a lot of things. He could live through whatever rogue agents had tried to hunt them down, he could live through millennia of repressed desire, he could live through Armageddon, but Crowley was not going to stand for some other snake, no matter how cute she was, cuddling up to his angel.

Jealousy wasn’t a foreign concept to Crowley, he was still mostly demon after all, but he never personally experienced it before. He had only laughed when Aziraphale mumbled about Oscar Wilde and pressed for questions about his discreet gentlemen’s club. He was never jealous of Aziraphale’s list of lovers, he knew his place in the angel’s heart was irreplaceable. So as a demon, as a being of the occult, Crowley wasn’t jealous.

But as a snake? As the serpent of Eden, the one who first spoke to Aziraphale on the wall, Crowley had already laid his claim on the angel. He had coiled around Aziraphale like a python, daring any other creature to try and get close to him. That kind of possession, that kind of devotion, that kind of love, flared up in Crowley as he ran around the corner to the kitchen.

“Oh, Crowley, look at her!”

To his horror, the sneaky little snake was curled up in Aziraphale’s fingers. She gave Crowley a self-satisfied smirk and he couldn’t help but hiss. That was _his_ angel and any creature on Earth knew better than to get close to him.

“Aziraphale…” Crowley said slowly.

“Isn’t she just adorable?” Aziraphale cooed and she lifted her head to rub against his cheek and Crowley _bristled_. “And so intelligent too! Coming inside like that!”

“Aziraphale!” Crowley choked out. “Drop her!”

“Drop her!” Aziraphale looked scandalized. “She’s only a baby! She must be lost and lonely!”

“Trust me, she’s not,” Crowley glared at the snake, who was coiling herself up around Aziraphale’s neck. “Just throw her outside and – ”

“Outside, are you mad?” Aziraphale put a hand protectively over her. “She’ll be killed by sunset!”

“No, I really doubt that,” Crowley deadpanned.

The snake nuzzled in closer to Aziraphale’s neck and Crowley fumed.

“We have to take care of her,” Aziraphale announced. “Look how friendly she is! If we set her free then someone else will pick her up and mistreat her. We have to keep her!”

As jealous as Crowley was, as much as the snake inside him was rising up to defend his claim, he knew a losing battle when he saw one.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “Fine. But you’re taking care of her!”

Aziraphale beamed and the snake gave Crowley a triumphant grin.

Aziraphale named her Medusa and Crowley pouted in the garden for weeks.


	16. Children

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Crowley and Aziraphale adopt a child.

Sixty years have passed since the end of the world. Sariel visited once during those years, just to make sure the rogue agents didn’t come back. Aziraphale and Crowley hadn’t entirely forgiven her for their stint in the alternate reality. They agreed it was for the best, but she was prideful and cryptic and Aziraphale was glad to see her go.

Little Medusa had moved from the cottage to the bookshop, where she kept customers at bay and spent her days sunning by Aziraphale’s desk. For all his protesting, Crowley _adored_ Medusa and spoiled her endlessly, only when he thought Aziraphale wasn’t looking.

Humanity as a whole hadn’t changed much over the last few decades. Technology continued to improve by leaps and bounds, the world slowly became more tolerant, and the push for environmental change started to finally take hold.

Aziraphale started to spend more time in the bookshop. The cottage, as much as it was home and warm and a reminder of the life he chose to live with Crowley, sometimes felt empty. It had felt empty since The Them all grew up, but between one thing and another, Aziraphale hadn’t had time to get used to it; the silence of only two people in a house. Unlike Crowley, who despised crowded places, Aziraphale liked being around people.

As long as the people weren’t customers trying to buy his books.

He was sitting at his desk, absentmindedly stroking Medusa’s head while reading, listening to the hustle and bustle of people outside amidst the downpour of rain, when the bell to the door dinged. Aziraphale leaned back to look around the corner and saw a young girl slip into the shop.

She didn’t look at any of the books, just tucked herself into a small armchair, arms around herself and shoulders shaking, dripping water into a small puddle on the floor. Trusting all his instincts, Aziraphale tucked Medusa back into her enclosure and slowly walked to the crying girl.

As he came closer, he noticed she wasn’t a young girl, but a young woman, probably around her twenties. Her blonde hair was around her shoulders and, as Aziraphale approached, she looked up with the largest blue eyes. Her makeup was smeared around her eyes and she had a bruise on her cheek.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly.

“Nothing to apologize for, my dear,” Aziraphale said. “Would you like a blanket? Or a towel? I can make you some cocoa if you’d like.”

She stared at him. “Isn’t that just loitering?”

“I’d rather you be in here, warm, than outside,” Aziraphale said. As if to punctuate his point, a clap of thunder roared outside. “Come along to the backroom and we’ll get you warmed up.”

She followed him, dripping water on the floor. Aziraphale led her to the back, where he had a neat little kitchenette. He gestured for the young woman to sit down at the small table, grabbed a miraculously thick and warm blanket to wrap around her shoulders, and busied himself with making cocoa. At least, he pretended to go through the motions to cover up the miracle of cocoa he was currently conjuring.

“I’m sorry, I don’t believe I caught your name,” Aziraphale said.

“Eliza.”

“Well, Eliza,” Aziraphale turned around and pressed a cup of cocoa into her hands. She looked smaller in the kitchen, wrapped up in the thick blanket. “It’s not my business to pry, but I’ve often found that telling someone of your troubles makes them easier to bear.”

Eliza looked at him suspiciously. She took a small sip of her cocoa but didn’t break eye-contact with him.

“Don’t you have to work?” she asked.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” Aziraphale said, quickly miracling the shop sign to CLOSED _._ “Now, tell me dear, what happened?”

Eliza bit her lip. Her fingers tapped the edges of the mug and she looked down at the table. Like a frightened and cornered animal, she was slow to trust and quick to run. Aziraphale had seen it before. She was not ready.

“Eliza, dear, don’t worry about it,” Aziraphale said gently. “You don’t owe me anything. Go ahead and finish your cocoa, I won’t bother you. But if you ever need a safe place, my door is always open.”

He gently patted her on the hand, stood up, and left her alone. Back in the storefront proper, Aziraphale went through the motions of closing down the shop. He tallied his inventory, made note of the handful of sales he was forced to comply with, and closed the blinds. The thunderstorm had abated somewhat, only a soft pitter-patter of rain on the concrete outside. Medusa was sleeping in her enclosure and Aziraphale turned on her heating lamp.

Eventually Eliza stepped from the backroom. Her damp hair curled gently around her face and, now that her clothes weren’t slick with water, Aziraphale could see how thin she was.

“Thanks,” she muttered. “I’ll be off now.”

Aziraphale smiled. “The door is always open, dear. Just ask for Mr. Fell.”

It was two weeks later when Aziraphale saw Eliza again. Crowley was sprawled over the couch, skirt hiking up almost indecently on her thighs, with Medusa cradled gently on her chest. The sight alone sent most customers away and Aziraphale made a mental note to reward Crowley that night. She did love scandalizing the poor humans.

When the door chimed open and Aziraphale heard no gasp of horror at Crowley and Medusa, he knew he was dealing with someone serious. Anyone who braved Crowley’s sultry display to enter a bookshop would be a force to be reckoned with. Aziraphale readied himself and turned to the door. Standing there, clutching a small bag, was a slender young woman with wavy blonde hair and wide blue eyes.

“Eliza!” he grinned. He noticed the bruise on her cheek had faded, though her eye socket was still a sickly yellow.

“Hello, Mr. Fell,” Eliza said shyly.

“Come in, dear! You look much better than the last time I saw you!” Aziraphale rushed forward and grabbed her hand, tugging her into his office.

She gave him a weak smile. “Afraid things aren’t going much better though and there’s no one else to talk to.”

Aziraphale gently set her down in a chair. “Don’t you worry, dear. Let me just take care of the shop and you can tell me whatever you need.”

Eliza nodded. Aziraphale walked over to Crowley, bending over the back of the couch and gently running a hand down her cheek. Crowley’s eyes slowly flickered open.

“Darling, can you watch the shop for me?” Aziraphale asked.

“Sure,” Crowley mumbled. She waved her hand and the doors locked. “S’closed early.”

Aziraphale’s chest warmed with love. He bent close and kissed her forehead. Crowley hummed in appreciation and lifted her face up. Laughing softly, Aziraphale kissed her properly.

“Love you,” Crowley breathed into his mouth.

“Love you too, dearest.”

With that settled, Aziraphale went back to his office, miracling a cup of cocoa as he went. He sat down across from Eliza, pressed the mug into her hands, and waited.

“Is that your wife?” she asked.

“Oh, yes,” Aziraphale nodded. He smiled as he looked over to the couch. “I suppose Crowley _is_ my wife.”

“You suppose?” Eliza took a sip of her cocoa.

“Yes, well, sometimes Crowley is my husband,” Aziraphale explained. “Just depends on how she’s feeling at the moment.”

Eliza brightened up. “That’s nice that you’re so understanding.”

“I love her, whatever form she chooses doesn’t matter,” Aziraphale couldn’t help the love struck smile on his face. “But I’m here to listen to you, dear Eliza. What’s wrong?”

Eliza looked down at her cocoa. “Is it weird that I want to tell you? I won’t even tell my best friends and I don’t even know you! But… there’s something about you, about this place.”

Aziraphale put on his best smile. “I’ve been told I’m a good listener. I try to be as friendly and as helpful as possible. The world needs a little more love in it, Eliza, and I’m just trying to help it along.”

“My family’s kicking me out and I have nowhere to go,” Eliza said in a rush. “I just found out I’m pregnant like, last week, and my boyfriend swears it wasn’t him so he thinks I’m cheating on him now. I’m so stressed out that I can’t go to work but if I get fired then I have no chance of finding somewhere to live and I don’t know what to do.”

“Oh my,” Aziraphale said. “That is… quite a lot on your plate. Can you, quite possibly, live with one of your friends?”

Eliza shook her head. “They live too far away from where I work and they don’t have a lot of room. I can spend a night or two, but I can’t move in permanently.”

Aziraphale hummed. “And your job?”

“Waitress. If I don’t make it back to work by next week then I’ll basically lose my job, and it’s a tip based income so it’s not like a lot of money anyway.”

Eliza looked so small in the chair. So much stress and expectations put on such a young woman. Really, there was only one thing Aziraphale could do.

“Why not work here?” he suggested. “I could use an extra set of hands and there’s a bedroom upstairs if you needed a place to sleep.”

“Oh, no!” Eliza protested. “I couldn’t do that to you! You… you don’t even know me!”

“Then how about a compromise,” Aziraphale said. “You come work for me. I show you how to run the bookshop and then, if you don’t have a place to live, you just stay here. Just until you get back on your feet.”

“But, but,” Eliza sputtered.

“You should take the offer,” Crowley said. She had woken up, finally, and was leaning up against the wall. “Just to help you on your way. It’s what he does. He helps people. Far too kind for his own good.”

“Just until you get things in order,” Aziraphale promised.

“Well… okay,” Eliza nodded. “When do I start?”

After a month of working in the bookshop with Aziraphale, Eliza was practically one of the family. She had a knack for steering customers to the less valuable books and a good head for numbers. Even Medusa liked her. Eliza didn’t so much as move into the upper bedroom as much as she stayed the night and never left, just slowly started bringing things in and making it home.

Months passed and Eliza gave birth to a healthy boy. She name him Anthony and Crowley almost cried. She eventually met a good partner and moved out of the bookstore. Eliza continued to work with Aziraphale, always bringing in cookies her girlfriend made. They visited Aziraphale and Crowley once a month at the cottage for dinner and it was like having a family again.

Eventually, Eliza and her now wife left London. It had been several years since she first stumbled, wet and broken, into his bookshop and he was proud of the woman she had grown into. But, once again, Aziraphale felt the strange sense of loneliness in an empty house and empty bookshop.

He was about to close the shop when a small, mousy boy sprinted through the door. He looked no older than twelve and he squatted down between the shelves. The wail of police sirens echoed in the air and Aziraphale looked down at the boy.

“Is that for you?” he asked.

He looked up at Aziraphale with a mischievous grin. “Naw, I lost my tail two blocks back. Those are for Murphy. He’s not as fast as me.”

“What would your parents think?”

“Dunno. Don’t got ‘em.”

“Would you like a cup of cocoa?”

The boy’s face lit up. “Sure would! D’you have the kind with the little marshmallows in it? Those are the best even if the marshmallows just sorta melt into it.”

“I have any kind of cocoa you want,” Aziraphale promised.

He turned the sign to CLOSED and led the little boy to the backroom for a warm cup of cocoa.

“You’re collecting them,” Crowley said one morning.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Children. You keep finding these lost kids and giving them a home. First was Eliza, then that little Ethan fellow. Then the twins came along and that’s not even counting the ones who only stay for a week or so.”

“I’m a guardian angel, Crowley,” Aziraphale said. “I can’t help it. And ever since Adam and the others grew up, it’s been so quiet. I guess I’m just… trying to fill the silence.”

“By adopting every stray child that comes across your path?”

“By giving them a safe place,” Aziraphale countered. “I’d rather they come and sit in the bookshop than go out making bad decisions! And, if I recall, _you_ were the one who brought in Samuel!”

“He was starving!”

Aziraphale huffed and tried to keep a hold of his anger but he found himself laughing at the incredulous nature of the conversation. Here they were, guardians of the Earth, somewhere closer to humanity than heaven or hell, arguing because they both cared about children.

At the first chuckle, Crowley’s composure broke and she also started to laugh.

They never brought it up again. While A.Z. Fell and Co. bookshop didn’t sell very many books it did gain reputation as a safe place in Soho. Word traveled through London and reached the ears of every abandoned child that Mr. Fell would take them in, that he and his wife would look out for them, no matter their circumstances.

And Aziraphale never had a quiet bookshop again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the headcanon of Aziraphale's bookshop being sort of a safe-space for children who need a safe place to go. So they don't adopt one child, oh no, they basically adopt any abandoned, abused, left-behind child in London.


	17. Traitors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Crowley and Aziraphale adopt Gabriel and Beelzebub

Crowley found himself loving Scotland. He and Aziraphale moved there after Adam’s funeral. It had been almost ten years since then, almost ninety years since the Armageddidn’t. Aziraphale insisted on doing this properly, renting a truck and signing the papers but, after a week of phone calls to try and settle his affairs, he allowed Crowley to miracle their cottage to the Scottish highlands.

After almost a century of living in it, the cottage had become a part of them. Aziraphale had an entire room dedicated to his ever increasing book collection – a library that would be the envy of every bibliophile in the world. Crowley had a full greenhouse attached to the back that Aziraphale was not allowed in. He spoiled the plants too much.

Crowley was cooking dinner, a habit he’d grown into over the last few decades, when he heard a knock at the door. Crowley, immediately suspicious, grabbed his plant mister of holy water, and walked to the front door.

Crowley opened the door and was greeted with the strangest sight. Gabriel stood on his doorstep. He had a black eye, his normally clean suit was streaked with black and his left arm was held awkwardly. Next to him was Beelzebub, bleeding from her lip and leaning heavily on Gabriel, standing on one leg.

Leading them was none other than the legendary Sariel who looked a little bored, if Crowley was honest. Still, she smiled at Crowley.

“Surprise,” she said.

“No,” Crowley shook his head. “You said they would leave us alone.”

“They’re not here to hurt you,” Sariel said. “Cross my heart and all that jazz. They have questions and they’re injured. So are you gonna let us in?”

“I suppose I am,” Crowley glared. As if anyone could oppose Sariel.

Still wary (Crowley didn’t trust Sariel as far as he could throw her), he let them into the cottage and, with a snap, cleared up the dinner he had been making. Sariel ushered them into the kitchen and promptly made herself at home, bustling around the kitchen like she owned it. Gabriel and Beelzebub awkwardly sat down at the table, wincing in pain. Leaving them for a moment, Crowley went to find Aziraphale.

“Angel!” Crowley called out from the doorway to Aziraphale’s library. “We’ve got company.”

Aziraphale practically materialized in front of Crowley. His glasses were a little skewed on his face, eyebrows raised in confusion at the holy water mister in Crowley’s hand.

“Company?” Aziraphale repeated.

They hadn’t had company in decades. Instead of explaining, Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand and tugged him into the kitchen. Sariel had been busy. Gabriel’s arm was in a splint on the table and he was holding an ice pack to his forehead with his good arm. Beelzebub’s leg was stretched out on a chair, her lip had finally stopped bleeding.

Next to Crowley, he could feel Aziraphale’s wings bristle.

“Get out,” he practically snarled. “I don’t know how you found us, but we’ve wanted nothing to do with you for nearly a hundred years. Now leave!”

“You really think that’s gonna work this time? Since it went _so well_ last time,” Sariel said blandly. “Besides, you owe me one for saving your skins.”

“Owe you one?” Crowley spluttered.

“Aren’t you wondering what happened to them?” Sariel continued. She pulled on Beelzebub’s leg and the demon hissed in pain. “Aren’t you curious?”

In a word, yes. Crowley was dying of curiosity. It wasn’t every day their former bosses showed up, bruised and bloodied, with an angel who was still on speaking terms with God. Of course Crowley was curious. He wanted to know what happened to them. Did they get hurt together? How was Sariel involved? What brought them here of all places?

“Aziraphale, I’m sorry,” Gabriel groaned. Underneath the florescent kitchen lighting, his injuries looked even worse. The entire side of his face was blotchy yellow and Crowley could see the faint outline of a ring bruised against Gabriel’s jawline. “You were right. You were right about everything.”

“We’ve had a lot of time to think,” Beelzebub said. “About what happened. About what you both said. We’ve been meeting around the world to talk about it, to understand the ineffable plan and how you were both so powerful.”

“And we started asking questions too,” Gabriel reached over the table and took Beelzebub’s hand in his. “Which didn’t go over very well.”

“Sandalphon,” Aziraphale said and Gabriel nodded.

“And Hastur, I presume,” Crowley gestured to Beelzebub’s broken leg.

“Lucky I caught wind of it,” Sariel said. Her hands snapped Beelzebub’s leg into place and the demon screamed. “Well, not lucky so much as conveniently planned, but you get the idea.”

“Then this was all part of the Almighty’s plan?” Aziraphale asked as he sank into one of the chairs at the table. “Another rebellion?”

“Not exactly,” Sariel miracled a cast around Beelzebub’s leg and leaned back. “The plan was to never destroy humanity; it was to _learn_ from humanity. To become like them. Only a human could tell off Satan like Adam Young did. They’re the best of both worlds. The good and the bad.”

“We wanted to learn to be like that,” Beelzebub said. “And for that… we were cast out.”

“Who’s leading above then?” Aziraphale asked. “Or below?”

“Michael took over the angels and Dagon over the demons,” Gabriel supplied. “They think we’ve gone crazy.”

“Well, good luck with being down here,” Crowley said firmly. “We’ve got dibs on this area though, so clear off.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale protested. “You can’t just kick them out!”

“Watch me, angel,” Crowley growled.

“But – ”

“No!” Crowley slammed his hands on the table. Beelzebub and Aziraphale both jumped. “After what they put us through? After _everything_ that they said? You want us to just _be okay_ with it and welcome down here? They were going to _kill us_ , Aziraphale!”

“I know, dearest,” Aziraphale said gently. “I know. But we can try and forgive them. They’ll make their own choices and it is our choice to decide how we will react to them. Are we going to be scornful? Or are we going to rise up and forgive them? Teach them?”

All the fight left Crowley’s body. Aziraphale was right, as always. He didn’t even say anything, just nodded his head slowly. Aziraphale beamed.


	18. Second in Command

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Protecting each other
> 
> This prompt took a VERY long time, and I'm so sorry for the delay. I don't have the rest of the prompts started (or even know where I'm taking this anymore ooops) but hopefully, with this prompt out of the way, I can continue on with this.
> 
> Thanks for reading and sticking with it!

Despite all of Crowley’s doubts and grumblings, Gabriel and Beelzebub settled into Earth, not well, but decently. Neither of them had any experience among humanity and the first decades were spent explaining how humans thought and acted. No, Gabriel, you don’t buy pornography in a bookshop loudly in front of everyone. No, Beelzebub, you cannot threaten the cars to stop because you’re crossing the street.

It was exhausting work, but it was worth it for Aziraphale.

To see Gabriel and Beelzebub settle in, not quickly, but eventually, into Earth, meant there was hope, somewhere in the universe, that the rest of the angels and demons would understand too. The biggest surprise came when Beelzebub started to fly again and when Gabriel started sprouting feathers behind his ears.

A little fallen and a little risen, just like Crowley and Aziraphale.

“I’m home!” Aziraphale called out cheerfully as he waked into the door of their little Scottish cottage.

When there was no answer, Aziraphale instantly was on alert. His wings bristled at the edge of the material plane and he closed his eyes, sending out his feelers for any sign of life in the cottage. There was darling Medusa, relocated back home several years back, when she needed a constant source of power to keep her immortality.

There was the faintest feeling of Crowley in the basement surrounded by two other auras, threatening and unknown.

Aziraphale wasn’t sure how Heaven and Hell found them but he would die before letting anyone ever hurt Crowley again. He may not have his sword but he was still the angel of the Eastern Gate, even if it was over 6000 year ago.

Resolve set, Aziraphale marched down the stairs, prepared for anything. He threw open the door to the basement and saw, not Crowley, but –

“Beelzebub? Gabriel?”

The two were tied up on the floor, back to back, and the combined energy gave off a similar feel to Crowley’s aura. Gabriel’s eyes widened and the feathers behind his ears flapped frantically. Beelzebub shouted something loud and wordless.

Aziraphale spun around and saw a fist heading for his face.

“Wake up!”

Aziraphale’s eye snapped open. He was tied up with Gabriel and Beelzebub and the side of his face was throbbing. Standing in front of him was the second most unlikely duo Aziraphale ever expected in his home (the first being Gabriel and Beelzebub).

Dagon and Michael looked down on Aziraphale with matching looks of disdain. They were creepily similar and Aziraphale wondered how close the two had been working since taking over management.

“I don’t know what you did to convince these two to leave, but you need to undo it,” Dagon said sharply. “Now.”

“It’s been terrible since they left,” Michael explained. “Can barely keep anyone in order. We need them back but instead they joined your lot. So fix it.”

“There’s nothing to fix!” Aziraphale said. “They chose to leave, to learn from humanity, I can’t fix that! Just… just take them back!”

Before Dagon or Michael could reply, the door to the basement burst open and Crowley charged in. It had been so long since Crowley had been a dangerous, avenging being, that Aziraphale forgot what it was like.

Crowley’s glowed golden. His large, black wings extended far beyond his back and, to Aziraphale’s utter surprise, Crowley was carrying a large pipe in one hand.

“Let him go!” Crowley shouted.

“Oh, Crowley, so kind of you to join us,” Dagon sneered. “Don’t get all worked up, traitor, your angel is fine.”

“What the hell do you want?” Crowley growled.

“Us,” Gabriel said softly from the floor. “Beelzebub and myself.”

“Then take them,” Crowley looked at Dagon and Michael. “Why bother with all this?”

Dagon scoffed. “As if they’d come back willingly.”

“We would,” Beelzebub piped up. “We left because you kicked us out. Didn’t think you wanted us anymore.”

“Well, we were wrong,” Michael said. “Will you come back?”

“If we come back, there will be some changes,” Gabriel said.

“A lot of changes,” Beelzebub corrected.

Michael and Dagon shared a look. Crowley shifted closer to Aziraphale.

“Fine,” Michael snapped her fingers.

The ropes around Aziraphale, Beelzebub, and Gabriel loosened. Aziraphale jumped up and into Crowley’s arms and Gabriel helped to lift Beelzebub to her feet. Their fingers tangled together and they faced Michael and Dagon together.

“I hate to be a bother, but if you do plan on returning, then could you please continue the conversation outside of our house?” Aziraphale said shortly.

There was a rush of wind and the basement was empty. With the threat gone, Aziraphale let himself collapse into Crowley’s arms.

“We need to move,” Aziraphale muttered. “I trust that Gabriel and Beelzebub can keep the others in line, but I don’t like them knowing where we live.”

Crowley nodded, rubbing his hands up and down Aziraphale’s back. “I hear Ireland is pretty.”

Aziraphale leaned back and looked up at Crowley in the eyes. There was still a little fire in his eyes in defense of Aziraphale and it was incredibly attractive. Putting his hands on the back of Crowley’s neck, Aziraphale pulled him in for a quick, warm kiss.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale whispered against Crowley’s lips. “Thank you for coming back for me.”

“You’d do the same for me, Angel,” Crowley smiled and kissed Aziraphale. “Come on, then, let’s move to Ireland.”


	19. First Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: First Official Date

Crowley was pacing. He couldn’t help it – he was nervous. He had his best suit on, the reservations were miraculously in place with a menu approved by Aziraphale. He even had a damn bouquet for the occasion. It wasn’t like this wasn’t planned or that Aziraphale would stand him up, but Crowley was still nervous.

Despite being nearly two centuries since the not-end-of-the-world, despite being married for most of it, they had never been on an official date. Yes, they had “dates” before, but it wasn’t official or fancy or anything like that, so Crowley didn’t count those. They’d been going to museums and symphonies and dinners together since the beginning of those inventions. Hardly date material.

“Angel, are you ready?” Crowley called up. “We’ll be late!”

“No, we won’t,” Aziraphale called back down. “Just give me a few more moments!”

Crowley rolled his eyes and, taking matters into his own hands, went up the stairs to their bedroom. Whatever was taking Aziraphale so long couldn’t be _that_ important.

“Angel, if you’re late on our first date I will never forgive you,” Crowley said as he pushed open the bedroom door.

Crowley froze. His jaw hit the ground. The flowers followed soon after. Aziraphale stood in front of a giant mirror that certainly wasn’t there when Crowley had left. Crowley was barely paying attention to the mirror, his eyes greedily looking up Aziraphale’s bare back.

“Nice dress,” he managed.

It was a nice dress, objectively speaking. Floaty chiffon that fell from Aziraphale’s hips like a waterfall, an open back bodice beaded with pearls and gems with a sweetheart neckline. Aziraphale’s hair was longer and pulled back, curls falling down around the shoulders.

“I wanted it to be special,” Aziraphale blushed. “First date and… well… I had this old thing hidden away and you always liked it when I presented this way. Thought it would be nice for a first date.”

“Nice?” Crowley could barely speak. “Angel, you are _magnificent_. I’ll have you anyway I can and this? This is far more than I deserve.”

Aziraphale smiled, eyes twinkling. “Well, husband, shall we?”

“Oh, yes,” Crowley extended his arm for Aziraphale. “My beautiful spouse, we shall.”

Dinner was delicious. Afterwards, Crowley took Aziraphale up to the top of the Eiffel Tower, using a minor miracle to keep the wind at bay as they looked down on Paris. They reminisced about crepes and revolutions until sun started to rise.

Back home, Crowley helped Aziraphale out of the beautiful dress and took his lovely, precious, beautiful, angelic spouse to bed.


	20. Humanity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: They become human
> 
> I've had the last 2 prompts ready basically forever (since I started this) and since these last few are causing some problems, I thought I'd post the last two and then fill in the gaps when the prompts come to me.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Crowley dropped his glass. Wine splattered on the floor and the glass shattered. He hardly paid attention to it – he was too busy staring at Aziraphale, mouth dropped open.

“Excuse me?” Crowley said softly, hardly daring to believe what he was hearing.

“What if we became… human?” Aziraphale said. “It’s been so many years, my love. Let’s grow old together, the one thing we haven’t done yet.”

“But we’d… you and I… that is…”

“It wouldn’t be easy but I want to do it,” Aziraphale said. “We’ve been here for so long, looking out for humanity, bracing ourselves for the next Armageddon, but with Gabriel and Beelzebub converted and keeping tabs on Heaven and Hell… we don’t have to do it anymore.”

Crowley wondered if this was how Aziraphale felt when he asked him to run away to the stars together. That was so many years ago and Crowley could still remember the shock and surprise on Aziraphale’s face. No doubt the same expression Crowley had right now.

And despite the thousands and thousands of years they’ve been together, despite the ancient marriage certificate hanging on their wall, despite the constant reassurance from Aziraphale, Crowley couldn’t stop one doubt niggling at the back of his brain.

“Will you love me when we’re old?” Crowley whispered.

“I could ask the same of you.”

“Of course I will!” Crowley moved across the couch and took Aziraphale’s hands in his. “Even if your hair falls out or your eyes go blind or your limbs start to fail you, I will _always_ love you. You will always be my angel.”

“And how could you think anything less of me?” Aziraphale said. “Even if you’re a crotchety old man, yelling at kids to get off our lawn, I would still love you.”

“I would never yell at them for standing on the grass,” Crowley protested. “Only for picking flowers.”

Aziraphale looked up at Crowley with his big, serpentine blue eyes. “Then we’ll do it? Become human?”

Crowley looked around the cottage, at the thousands of years of memories. Could he knowingly leave all this behind? To live for only a few decades more before dying? And what about after? Where did fallen angels and demons go? Would they be lost to purgatory, never belonging to one side or the other?

Then again, weren’t they already there? Didn’t they already leave behind their two sides to just be together? How much different would this be?

And if Crowley were honest with himself, he didn’t hate the idea. Not having miracles at their disposal would take some getting used to, but it would be worth it. Anything for Aziraphale would be worth it.

“Let’s do it.”

Everything _hurt_. Crowley’s back was on fire. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, hard and fast as if it was trying to escape his ribcage. He had an itch on his foot that was nagging him and his body felt sticky with sweat. His eyes burned and stung and hot tears squeezed down his cheeks.

His hipbone was starting to hurt from where it was jammed against the hard ground and his arm had gone numb. Something in his spine was aligned wrong and his stomach gave an awkward and painful lurch.

Crowley moved a little, shifting to be on his back instead of on his side, and his arm _burned_. It felt like pins and needles stabbing across his skin and his fingers felt thick and clumsy. On his back wasn’t much better and Crowley felt something in his gut twist and bile build up in the back of his throat.

It took him a moment to pin down the sensation, the lurching in his gut and the cold sweat breaking out on his brow, and realize it was nausea. Crowley never felt this before, like his stomach was rebelling against his mind and body, crawling up his throat. On his back, he took deep breaths through his mouth, trying to quell the queasy feeling in his gut.

Slowly he opened his eyes. The room was dark and, as his eyes started to focus, he realized he was home, flat on his back in the kitchen. Next to him was Aziraphale, limp on the floor and his chest not moving.

Crowley swallowed the nausea, ignored the burning sensation in his arm and the protest of his knees on the hard floor, and crawled over to Aziraphale.

“No, no,” he mumbled and his voice was a rasp in his chest. “Angel, no.”

With shaking hands, Crowley touched Aziraphale’s forehead. Still warm. He leaned down, cradling Aziraphale’s head close, listening for the soft breathing that his angel was alive. It was there, faint and raspy, but there.

“Oh, angel,” Crowley ran his hand through Aziraphale’s hair. “Wake up, please.”

Aziraphale groaned and slowly opened his eyes. Blue eyes, bluer than the sky on a summer day, looked up at him. Perfectly blue, normal, human eyes. As soon as Aziraphale locked eyes with Crowley, he jolted straight up, hand over his mouth in a gasp.

“Your eyes!” Aziraphale reached out and touched Crowley’s cheek. “Oh, love, your eyes! They’re so beautiful.”

“You’ve seen them before,” Crowley shifted awkwardly.

“Not like this.”

Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s hands and dragged him upright. The change left Crowley’s head spinning and, for a moment, he thought the nausea would crest and had to swallow thickly to keep himself from vomiting all over his angel.

Stumbling behind Aziraphale, Crowley was dragged to the bathroom. His limbs felt so awkward and heavy and his hip ached where it had been pressed to the ground. Such minor pains that he’d never felt before. In the bathroom, Aziraphale planted Crowley in front of the mirror.

He looked almost exactly the same. Same red hair, tousled all over the place, same high cheekbones, but his eyes were very different. Instead of those golden snake eyes he’d kept hidden since the Garden, those eyes that reminded him exactly what he was, Crowley’s eyes were human.

Warm, hazel brown eyes looked back at him with wide, circular pupils. If Crowley turned his head slightly, the light catching the iris just right, they looked almost golden.

“You’re so beautiful, my husband,” Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley’s waist. “You always were.”

“We did it,” Crowley breathed. “Oh, angel, we did it!”

“Grow old with me?” Aziraphale pressed a soft kiss to Crowley’s neck.

“Always.”


End file.
